No Time Like The Present
by donahermurphy
Summary: Hermione's unconscious, but that's not her only problem. Because now it's four years after the defeat of Voldemort, and although nobody cares who Hermione Granger is, there are plenty of people who want to use her future knowledge to their own advantage.
1. Prologue: Arrival

**Disclaimer: **Hello, lawyers of the world. Yes, I dared to write something based on another person's book. It's called a "fanfiction." While this new term may not dissuade you from trying to sue me, the fact that I have no money, and am not going to be making money anytime soon (especially not off this) hopefully will. According to several people, stating that I am not J. K. Rowling is, apparently, a help in fending off angry lawyers.

**A/N: **I got the idea of Remus Lupin's mother's affiliation with Healing from The Purloined Prophetess and something Professor Lupin said in the third book, though Rosemary Lupin herself is all my own creation.

This is a time travel fic, though I fancy it has unique twist you won't have seen before. Please at least read the prologue before you dismiss it out-of-hand as "one of those annoying time-travel stories."

**Extended Summary:**

Hermione Granger accidentaly travels back in time during the Battle of the Departent of Mysteries. When she wakes up, she has a nasty shock. The year is now 1986, her six-year-old self has just died, and she's never going to be able to go home. Her timeline was destroyed the moment she set foot in the past. If that wasn't bad enough, she has to cope with Ministry lackeys who want her future knowledge for her own benefit, avoiding inquisitive Death Eaters, and O.W.L.S... again. She _also_ has to somehow prove "Voldemort's right hand man, Sirius Black," innocent. Can she? Of course. Compared to her other years at Hogwarts, it's a piece of cake. After all, nobody's trying to kill her... yet.

* * *

* * *

**Prologue: Arrival**

"**The future has a way of arriving unannounced." -George Will**

* * *

* * *

_Jostled by desks, carried in a running boy's arms -_Harry or Neville? some part of her wondered_- her belly burning with each _-oh, God the pain_- hurried step and dropped on the marble floor- _so cold_- and more cries of "Colloportus" -_was that Luna's scream?- _and light and spells and a crashing sound that came with sand and glass and _-oh God the pain_-_ _sharp things pressing into her and the taste of blood. _

_And darkness, then, at last. Silence, too, and though a part of her broke to hear it- _because silence meant they'd lost, and it was all her fault because she wasn't good enough, couldn't say things right, and maybe if she'd been better at explaining Harry would've listened_-_ _she was grateful, when it all went still. _

_All of it. Her mind, and her breath. And her heart. They went quiet, too._

* * *

* * *

Millicent Bagnold was editing a press release to the Daily Prophet when the Augustus Forthwright, Head of the Department of Mysteries, came quietly into the room, his face a customary blank.

She was about to make a trenchant comment about scheduling appointments when she saw his dark eyes, and the slight tightening of the corner of his mouth. Forthwright had worn that exact expression when he'd informed her about the revelation of Rookwood's true loyalties, five years before.

Unconsciously, she stiffened, preparing herself for the bad news. "Yes, Forthwright?" she inquired, keeping her voice steady.

"I'm afraid there's been an… incident in one of the labs, Minister" he explained, his gaze resting firmly on a point over her left shoulder. "In the Time Department. No- no employee has been injured, thankfully."

Millicent Bagnold could read between the lines with the best of them, and she knew what questions to ask. "And what was a non-employee doing in the Time Division?" she asked softly.

He caught her gaze, this time, and his answer disturbed her greatly. "We don't know," he replied.

* * *

* * *

"Magical female, approximately sixteen years of age, gut-spilling curse to the chest, various cuts on her legs, arms, and face, most by glass, the worst of which cut though a muscle in the calf. Was not breathing upon the time of discovery, no pulse either, but she was warm and the man on the scene managed to overcome his shock long enough to restart the heart and lungs. Probably saved her life," the medic on staff in the Department of Mysteries rattled off.

Rosemary Lupin, Healer-In-Charge of the Artifact Accidents floor, was not impressed. "He won't have saved her life if she dies here today," was her stern reply to the man in front of her. "And she will if you don't tell me what I need to know."

"I told you-"

"No, you did not. Were she simply sustaining the injuries you mentioned, she would have been sent to the fourth floor, not to me. I understand that confidentiality is an important issue with the Unspeakables, but your job is still to serve the wizarding community. Right now, there is a member of the wizarding community dying because you refuse to impart information vital to her recovery. " She paused a moment, to let this sink in.

"She was found in the time room," he gritted out. "Covered in timeturner glass and sand. There was some liquid that appeared to be from the brain room, only a few drops, and we've identified the remnants of one of the grandfather clocks lying beside her."

Rosemary looked at him a long moment. "You are suggesting, then, that this girl has somehow traveled in time- a trip of more than several days, unless there is some horrific event due to happen in the Ministry this week." Her voice was more tired than accusatory now.

"By our estimation, she made a trip of more than several _years_." he replied. "We did an identification spell- it turned up the name Hermione Granger. She's not registered with the Ministry, although we contacted Hogwarts and it seems she has been recorded as a magical birth. Muggleborn, I suppose."

Rosemary just stared at him, waiting for him to continue, though she knew that, outside her office, her assistant desperately needed her help in trying to keep said time-traveler alive. But she had to listen now. Otherwise, this battle was doomed to be lost.

_"There isn't a cure, Mrs. Lupin. You know that."_ She shoved the memory of failure aside. There was a patient that needed her. She turned her gaze back to the uncomfortable medic.

Sighing, he continued. "I can't tell you much, but- what studies we have done indicate that it isn't possible for someone go back in time this far and survive. The universe isn't that flexible. It'll allow a paradox, because of the magic, but one person cannot live simultaneously in two different times, not so far from their point of origin."

There was silence for a few moments as Rosemary thought. "What if she didn't? By all accounts she was clinically dead upon arrival. I've a fair knowledge of long-distance curses, and those intrinsically a part of the fabric of reality, and if there is a choice between two victims, it usually goes for the weaker one. Magically weaker, I mean, so even though her past self was uninjured, that was probably the Hermione Granger that died."

The man from the Ministry looked intrigued, but Rosemary cut him off before he could waste more of her precious time. "Thank you for your information. And now, I must be seeing to my patient." She was almost out of the room before he spoke again.

"We'll be updated on her progress, of course."

"Of course," Rosemary replied.

* * *

* * *

_Pain and cotton sheets and cold voices clinically discussing the fate of -something- and sickly sweet potions down her throat, making her gag, and memory-_there was… something, wasn't there? Something important, that came before the pain-_and sometimes screams when the nightmares came again, because she could never seem to wake herself up, not really. A sublime state of half awareness, and she stayed in it even though it was far less than sublime because she didn't want to know what was going on outside of the cocoon of her fogged mind. She didn't._

* * *

Rosemary rubbed her head once more. "Even when she does awake, no, I cannot let you interview her. Not while she is still in intensive care." 

The pompous Ministry liaison for the Granger case (_how could I ever think that poor medic was bad_, Rosemary thought) swelled angrily. "This is a matter of national- perhaps even _international_- security, Healer Lupin," he responded. "The girl could be a threat."

"The girl is clearly the victim of a vicious attack," Rosemary replied, tying to control herself. The nerve of the man! It was one thing to contact her in her office, but a house call was really pushing the limits. "And the only person I will allow near her when she wakes up, if they are not currently assigned to her case, will be a mindhealer. Perhaps when she is more fully recovered, but not now." His condescending expression was not helping her temper.

Luckily, she was interrupted by a floo call before she murdered the man . "Hello Mum- oh, I _am_ sorry, I see you have company. I'll call back later."

"No need, dear," she replied cheerfully, in a much better temper now that she saw a chance at escape. "He was just leaving. Do come in."

At that, she guided the fellow out the door with a bright, "We can continue our conversation at work on Monday!", returning to the parlor to greet her eldest-her _only-_ son, who was just now stumbling out of the fireplace.

She hid her frown at his thin, ragged figure, instead saying, "Sit down, sit down, Remus. I'll make us some tea." In her son's typically helpful fashion, he ignored her, instead taking out the cups and rolling his eyes.

A minute and a tap of the kettle later, they were both sitting at the rather rickety table, buttering their scones and enjoying some idle chitchat.

"So, Mum, got a new man-friend?" He asked (very wickedly, in Rosemary's opinion). "You didn't have to hide him; I wouldn't have minded. Dad would've wanted you to move on, you know."

Her laughter racked her chest. "Dear, _really_, don't say things like that. That foul man? I'd sooner join the circus as the company dog, doing tricks."

_Oh, heck,_ she thought,as she saw Remus' eyes darken. _How was that the wrong thing to say?_ There were some topics in the Lupin house that were not spoken of, and it seemed she'd just reminded him of one of them again, though she didn't know how.

"What was he doing here, though?" he asked, changing the subject quite deftly, in her opinion.

She told him all about the Granger case (leaving out name and specifics, of course)… "and hopefully she'll be waking up in several days. There doesn't seem to be any permanent damage, other than, well-"

"Being here, rather than in her own time," he finished for her. "But-sweet Merlin, Mum, is anyone taking care of her?"

"Well, what do you think I've been doing all this past week?" Rosemary asked, feeling rather miffed.

"No, Mum, I mean as a guardian. Have her parents been informed?" her son said, pointing out a concern she had hoped he wouldn't. It was one of the main problems.

"It's not possible in her case. She's Muggleborn, and-"

"That shouldn't make a difference," Remus interrupted.

"It doesn't. Well, it does for the Ministry, but you know it doesn't for me," Rosemary replied. "What does make a difference is that when they were eventually informed, they didn't believe us. I don't blame them, not really. Not their fault they couldn't take the information. They just lost their daughter, in a sense, and- well, even a wizarding parent would be hard put under those circumstances."

"How old was she- her past self, I mean?"

"Just over six." There was silence for a few minutes, before he spoke again.

"She'll pull through, I bet. You're the best Healer I know."

Rosemary sighed. "Thanks for the compliment, dear, but it's what happens after she wakes up that I'm worried about."

* * *

* * *

_It was bright, when she woke. Bright and cold and sterile, and she knew then that she was not at Hogwarts, that she was not rotting away in some pureblood dungeon, and that Harry and Ron must be… hurt. Because she was in Saint Mungo's, wasn't she, and chances were that Harry and Ron had been injured along with her. _

_They weren't dead. Surely someone would have been here when she woke, to tell her, if they had d- if something bad had happened. Well, something worse. But there was nobody here. So they couldn't have… been hurt too bad._

_They couldn't have._

_All the same though, she supposed she should ask the next Healer that came in how they were doing. Just to be on the safe side._

* * *

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, it was cold and dark and damp and quiet, except for the screams and the swish of rotted cloth. There was no comforting denial in on this lonely island, so far from crisp cotton sheets and the bright, clear sunlight of the hospital room. There were only the facts that tortured his eternal night.

They were really dead, would always be dead, and it was his fault.

It was his fault but he was innocent.

He was innocent but nobody who knew cared, and nobody who cared knew.

As it happens, he was wrong about this last fact. Although it had been true for quite some time, it wasn't now. Because back in London, miles away from the man on the island, an eternity away from her home, a little girl cried as her comforting web of denial was torn away.

* * *

* * *

**A/N: **

**I sometimes take a while to update. Reviews are the only cure. It doesn't matter if you're asking questions or telling me you think my story is dead boring- any feedback is good feedback. Thank you in advance!**


	2. Chapter 1: Awakening

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* * *

Explanation: Sorry if I haven't been very clear. I didn't want to upset the tone of the story by going into detail about everything. So here's a little summary of the last chapter's events for those of you who might be confused: **

**June, 5th year:**

Harry and Co. go in the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione gets hexed (canon) and fall unconscious (also canon).

Hermione gets dropped and smashed into time turners and one of the old grandfather clocks from the Ministry. She (surprise!) travels back in time.

(I may be doing a separate short story on what happened that night later on, so I'm not going to go into detail here.)

**May, 1986:**

(4 yrs. after Voldemort's defeat.)

(Hermione and Ron are six, Harry is five)

Hermione Granger, age sixteen, is found in the Department of Mysteries. She has no pulse and no heartbeat.

(One of my invented Time-traveling rules is that, although a wizard can travel up to three days in time, if he goes back any further one of his selves will die. This is not widely known, because normally it's the time-traveler who dies, not the past self.)

The wizard on duty revives Hermione's heart and lungs with a spell similar to CPR.

Because the older Hermione is now alive, the timeline eliminates the younger, magically weaker Hermione.

The Minister of Magic is informed and Hermione is transported to St. Mungo's for medical attention. (She's more severely injured than she was in the end of the fifth book, due to the strains of time-traveling and the fact that she is treated for her injuries a good two hours later than canon, so the curse has more time to do internal damage.)

**Other notes:**

Italics can stand for a conversation that someone really isn't paying attention to, or memories.

The main characters in this fic are Rosemary Lupin, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Hermione Granger. Although the main focus is on Rosemary Lupin and Hermione Granger, this fic is listed under Hermione and Sirius because I believe them to be the characters whose circumstances are most affected by the plot of this story.

(And there's hardly a category for a character that's not even mentioned by.name in any of the HP books.)

So to all you Sirius fans out there, I have good news and bad news. The good news is Sirius is an important part of this story plot-wise. The bad news is you won't be seeing him until much later.

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**Disclaimer:**I do not own Harry Potter. I don't think we're allowed to own people here in the U.S. of A. Or anywhere else, for that matter. 

**Chapter 1: Awakening**

"**Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change"**

**-Muhammad Ali**

* * *

Hermione had been staring dully at the white ceiling for the past twenty minutes, and she had no intention of stopping. She didn't have to listen. No one could make her. The words of the Healers and Ministry officials seemed to have a power of their own, however, and they seeped into her mind like so much toxic waste. 

_"…and the year is now 1987. Unfortunately, when the strain of the time travel failed to kill you, the excess energy caused by your arrival rebounded upon your past self and…"_

_"… you've sustained extensive damage, miss. I'm afraid you won't be walking at all for a another week or so, and you'll have to avoid too much physical activity in the next few months …"_

_"…I regret to say you cannot return. The future as you knew it ceased to exist the moment you set foot in this timeframe…"_

_"…you understand our situation. I'm afraid we did have to memory charm your parents after the failed contact, and I must strongly advise against approaching them in the future…"_

Her head swam as they delivered the news in clinical, matter-of-fact voices that did not disguise their morbid curiosity. She was alone, more alone than she had ever been before- even those first few lonely weeks at Hogwarts. At least then she'd been able to write to her Mum, getting lovely thick letters back full of sympathy and understanding, condolences and cheerful anecdotes.

It hurt to know she'd never get another.

And Harry and Ron- some part of her wondered if they were even alive, back in the future. But no, her time didn't exist anymore, did it. Her Harry and Ron- the ones she'd fought with and cried with and would have _died_ for- they were gone, too. Because her other self was dead, and now there wouldn't be a bushy-haired know-it-all on the train when they went to Hogwarts.

They would never know Hermione, and she wondered how that would change them. She pushed aside the part of her mind that wondered if they would be happier.

Quite suddenly, a number of the pompous Ministry officials surrounding her backed away, breaking her out of her introspective journey. In the doorway stood a grey-haired woman dressed in rather rumpled Healer's robe's. "I must have missed the letter that informed me of Miss Granger's return to consciousness," she said calmly. "Because I am sure none of you would deliberately conceal a change in a patient's status from the Healer in charge of her recovery."

Hermione felt a surge of gratitude toward the woman. Any respite from this hypocritical, condescending bunch of buffoons was welcome. Of course, the new Healer's arrival was also taking her mind off other thoughts, other realizations the wasn't quite ready for… not yet.

"Healer Lupin," one corpulent-looking wizard began, ("_Lupin!" _Hermione exclaimed inwardly, eagerly seizing upon the distraction) "We were authorized to inform Miss Granger of her situation immediately upon her recovery, and-"

"No, you were _not!_" Healer Lupin interrupted, looking furious. "In any case where a child undergoing medical treatment does not have a guardian, the Healer-in-charge has final say over anything that could potentially be detrimental to their health. As such-"

"_But_," the fat wizard interrupted, "luckily for Miss Granger here, the ministry has appointed her a guardian. Me. As you can see, I have the papers right here."

Hang on. Hermione looked up from her musings. This was bad. This was very bad. Hermione didn't know much about the situation she was in, but she did know that she wouldn't be blindly trusting the Ministry to look after her well-being, not after the fiasco with Umbridge.

Why had she thought of Umbridge in particular, though? The Ministry as a whole had provided a plenty good enough example of incompetence without her having to support her inner argument by mentioning that, well… _hag._ She looked at the wizard more closely. Hmm… yes, she did see a slight physical resemblance-

"I know you must have had a trying time of things, sweetheart," he spoke, as if to a child. (There was an even larger resemblance in personality, she noted.) "But rest assured that you will be taken care of." Hermione would have made a smart remark on the possible negative connotations of that particular phrase, had she not been so desperately trying to find a way out of her current predicament.

"After all," he continued, "We here at the ministry make it our _duty_, nay, our _life's work _to protect youngsters like yourselves." _Definitely related to Umbridge_, Hermione decided, as she tried to get a better look at that paper he kept waving around. "Who better than a Ministry-trained official to protect you? After all, there are a lot of scary things out there- like the people who hurt you in the Ministry."

" Tut, tut," he clicked, "It's such a shame that a sweet young girl like you had to be caught up in such violence." Her plan momentarily flew out of her head as she cringed, expecting him to ask why she was there.

He sighed theatrically. "I'm afraid you've entered a very dangerous time, Miss Granger." Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Oh, you may not think it! But the rot runs deep." He lowered his voice. "Did you know that they still let _werewolves_ free to roam the streets, nowadays?"

Healer Lupin flinched, and the man gave a small, smug smile.

And then Hermione lost her temper.

She justified it to herself later by saying that she was just sick and tired of the smug ministry bastards whose prejudice and blindness had led to- to this. After all, if Umbridge hadn't sacked and attacked everyone loyal to Dumbledore, Harry wouldn't have gone blindly rushing after Sirius, would he? (It would have been even more true, however, to say that she'd lost her temper because she'd lost her world. Anger is one of the stages of grief, after all- and they don't always go in order. But Hermione carefully avoided thinking about _that_.)

"I'm surprised any decent person could stand to let a prejudiced pig like _you_ free to roam the streets," was her icy reply. "Although perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. Today's Ministry seems just as heartless and corrupt as it is in my own time," she continued, rather enjoying his slack-jawed expression.

"For example, I noticed you haven't mentioned that, as a sixteen-year-old, I'm entitled to choose my guardian- or even live on my own if I can prove I have the means to support myself." Then she adopted a thoughtful frown. "Although I can't see _why_ you would want to take the guardianship of a paralyzed teenage girl if there wasn't something in it for you." Looking him straight in the eye, she asked, "Are you interested in interrogating me for information on future events, or are you just a pervert?"

* * *

The room was empty now, save for Rosemary Lupin and the white-robed Miss Granger lying in bed. 

The so-mentioned girl put her head in her hands. "Please tell me I didn't say everything I think I said," she moaned.

"I'm afraid so," Rosemary answered with a small smile.

"I just lost my temper!" her patient exclaimed. "Hearing that- than _man_ drone for minutes on end about how I'd never see my family, couldn't talk to my friends, won't even be able to _walk_ properly for another month-"

Rosemary interrupted the young girl's hysterics in a warm voice that (she hoped) didn't show her anger at the ministry official. "Are you meaning to imply you don't think I'm a capable Healer?" she asked, mock stern. "Because I assure you, you'll be up and about in no time. You'll have to take it easy this summer, no three mile runs-" (at this, her patient snorted in amusement) "-but other than that, you'll be fine."

Miss Granger gave a trembling smile. "Thank you," she said, "but what am I going to do about a guardian? The Ministry won't be very inclined to give me a grace period to show I can take care of myself-"

Rosemary blinked. "Is that what you were planning to do?" she asked, trying to hide the catch in her throat.

_"Mum, I'm moving out.," he said calmly- her little boy. Eighteen now, but all she could see through her tears were the locks of mousy brown hair he'd had since he was child._

_"We know Voldemort's been trying to collect information on all the werewolves," he explained as he patted her on the back. "I don't want to come home to find-"_

_"It's a war, Remus," she said, trying- and failing- to use her patented "Mum stare" on him- anything to keep him safe, close to home. "There's always that risk."_

_"But there's less of one for you if I move out," he said practically, then sighed. "It's not just that, Mum. I- I think I _have _to be on my own for a bit. I'm done school- and, much as I love you, I'll need to be moving out _sometime_." Her boy always was stubborn. And much too good at making logical arguments. _

_"Well, don't think you're getting rid of me that easily," she said, smiling through her tears. "You'd better be here for dinner every Sunday night- and on time, too, or I'll come looking."_

_Remus smiled back. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."_

"Well, yes," her patient said, looking uncomfortable. "I mean, I'm not bad at spells-" (Something in her tone of voice made Rosemary think that Miss Granger was very good at spells, but trying to be modest.) "-and I was hoping I could maybe get a loan at Gringotts, go back to Hogwarts for a month, and retake my O.W.L.s. Then -I don't know, maybe I'll get a summer job somewhere in Diagon Alley? I won't be able to do magic until September, though," the girl mused, "so maybe the Muggle world would be better."

"I'd really like to be able to take my N.E.W.T.s," she added. Miss Granger's voice broke a bit, but her expression didn't change.

Merlin, this was worse than she'd thought. For some reason, the girl's practicality unnerved Rosemary more than anything else today. Sixteen-year-olds weren't supposed to think about bills and paying for school and living on their own. They were supposed to spend money like water and complain because they didn't have the latest broom model or most expensive-looking dress. (She ignored the fact that Remus had never done this.)

They weren't supposed to worry about how they were going to _eat_.

"I have to make a plan for it now, or it doesn't happen," was Miss Granger's rejoinder, and Rosemary realized that she must have spoken that last out loud.

"Really, Miss Granger," she said to the girl, trying to be cheerful, "you must have a terrible opinion of me." The girl blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "Do you really think I'd let a patient of mine off on their own without a home to go to? I wasn't lying when I told that Ministry official about the Healer-in-Charge having final say in a decision that could be detrimental to their patient's health. You're underage and without a guardian, and it's my responsibility to make sure you're taken care of."

Miss Granger looked pleasantly surprised, but still a bit skeptical. "How am I going to find a guardian, though? People won't exactly be lining up to pay my tuition fees- not unless they have some ulterior motive."

If this child was any indication of the future, there sure would be a lot of cynics in the coming generation. But Rosemary couldn't refute her patient's statement. Unless… well, it had been rather lonely of late, and the girl did seem to need some help…

"Your faith in human nature warms my heart," said Rosemary dryly, "but I wasn't thinking of placing an ad in the Daily Prophet. As a matter of fact," she continued awkwardly, "I'm offering to look after you myself."

Now the girl looked like she'd been hit over the head with a crowbar. "Just like that?" she asked.

"Just like that," Rosemary replied. "It's not like I'm going to have to change your nappies and take you for walks around the park, and I could use a bit of company of late. People to read my boring medical articles to, and such," she added.

"Wow- I- I well, thanks." Miss Granger seemed speechless. She shook her head a few moments, to clear it. "Really, thank you so much."

There was silence for a few moments, before her patient suddenly laughed out loud.

"What is it?" Rosemary asked, somewhat alarmed. She'd been surprised the girl had been holding up as well as she was, considering the situation…

"We've haven't even introduced ourselves yet, have we?" Miss Granger laughed. "I don't know if the identification spell told you first names- I'm Hermione Granger." She held out her hand, and Rosemary shook it.

"Rosemary Lupin- call me Rosemary. As a matter of fact, it did tell us your name, but it's a good thing we're making these introductions, because I didn't have a clue how to pronounce it."

"Oh," Miss Gra-_ Hermione_ said, laughing, "I'm sure you wouldn't have mangled it too badly. I've been called such gems as 'Hermy'- you couldn't have done worse than that."

Rosemary raised her eyebrows. "There must be a story behind that one," she commented.

"Yes, there is," Hermione said, and almost wistful smile on her face. She changed the subject quickly, though. "It's funny, but I can get a pretty good idea of how bad somebody's going to mangle my name when I meet them. That Ministry fellow for instance- I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd called me 'Hermy' or something equally horrid." Her voice was amused, but a flash of distaste went across her face as she mentioned the man.

"He _was_ quite irritating, wasn't he," Rosemary agreed. "I still can't believe my assistant let him in like that- Mr. Umbridge is one of the most insensitive men I've yet to meet."

Miss Granger seemed somewhat surprised at the man's surname. Rosemary would later reflect that that might have been why the girl made such a slip of the tongue. One Hermione Granger's main attributes was thinking before she spoke, after all. "I don't normally lose my temper like that, even so," Hermione said, almost apologetically. "But when he insulted Professor Lupin, I just lost it."

Rosemary blinked, and Hermione covered her mouth with both hands. "Your professor's first name wouldn't be Remus, by any chance now, would it?"

Hermione's sheepish smile was answer enough.

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**A/N:Please review!**


	3. Chapter 2: Answers

**Disclaimer:**I wonder what would happened if I _did_ say I owned Harry Potter. Hmm…

* * *

**Chapter 2: Answers**

**"In the spider-web of facts, many a truth is strangled." -Paul Eldridge**

* * *

Rosemary Lupin would be bringing in the Ministry official any minute now, and then Hermione would be able to inform them about any future goings-on that they needed to know. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her wheelchair. Hermione would have felt a lot more comfortable about this meeting if she'd known where her wand was. Or if they'd waited until she could walk. 

Her hands wanted something to hold on to, something more solid than the white handkerchief she was currently twisting.

Making a conscious effort to still her fingers, she tried to calm down. It wasn't as if she had to talk to that loathsome Umbridge fellow again. After that fiasco, the ministry had apologized profusely, and appointed someone else to deal with her case.

Hermione knew quite well that the only reason they were doing so was because they hadn't expected her to know the legalities of her position. They would try a similar trick again if they thought they could get away with it, no doubt about that. Hermione would just have to be calm and rational today, giving them no reason to make her a ward of the Ministry. Because if they did, they could do many things in the name of "looking out for her best interests." They could cite a agoraphobia as the reason she was not allowed in the outside world, a nervous disposition as the reason it would be best not to have visitors, a history of law-braking as the reason she should be interrogated until the Cruciatus claimed her mind…

My, but she was cynical today.

Logically, she was quite aware that, for all the Umbridges and Fudges in the world, there were quite a few Weasleys and Tonkses. (More Weasleys than Tonkses, she supposed.) The Ministry wasn't _entirely_ corrupt. Besides, they had no reason to go after her- she hadn't broken any serious laws.

Well, she had broken into the Ministry, and she supposed that was serious. But there was a good reason for that. And it wasn't as though she had deliberately attacked someone… well, besides the DeathEaters. But they'd attacked her first, and even the Ministry couldn't find fault with her for that. It wasn't as though she'd ever attacked someone for a reason other than self-defense…

Unless you'd counted that time with Snape, when she'd set fire to him. But… that was kind of like self-defense, wasn't it? It was… Harry-defense. And everyone liked Harry. Why, in the Wizarding world today, they loved him! So she couldn't possibly get in trouble for that. Even if Snape hadn't really been attacking Harry.

Well, she hadn't done anything really, really illegal. Nothing worthy of… more than a year in Azkaban, surely. Except… she did remember reading that time traveling illegally could be worth up to a decade jail time, especially if the time traveler caused "undue risk of timeline contamination."

That had been an accident, though! It wasn't like she had time traveled illegally _on purpose_. Although there was that time she had gone back to rescue a convicted murderer and free a dangerous hippogriff from… well, from the Ministry. But it wasn't like she was ever going to tell them about hiding Sirius.

Oh, crap. _Sirius. _Sirius rotting away in Azkaban this very moment.

She'd forgotten. So wrapped up in her own grief and self-interest she's forgotten. _How?_

She'd have to tell the Ministry immediately, of course. Dumbledore, too. Now was probably the best time. How to do it, though? Dumbledore would listen, but the Ministry would need proof. Well, this time they would be able to capture Pettigrew. She knew where he was, after all. And if he somehow got away… well, she was a time traveler. They would have to listen to her, at least. Long enough to give Sirius a trial, or at least ask Professor Lupin about the Animagus thing.

Her mind was made up. Nervousness gone, she looked at the door expectantly. When the Ministry official came in, she would tell all. If it was someone like Fudge, she would simply ask to see Dumbledore so she could tell them both at the same time. Dumbledore was still respected in this time, and no wizard would think it at all unusual for her to ask to see her dear old headmaster.

* * *

Hermione was still looking at the door twenty minutes later when Rosemary Lupin brought the ministry official into the room. 

"Hermione, this is the Ministry liaison for St. Mungo's, Lucius Malfoy," Rosemary Lupin said cheerfully. "He's a great benefactor to the hospital here, as I'm sure you know."

Thank Merlin for those years of lying to teachers. She was just barely able to school her features into an expression of polite recognition. "Oh, yes! Of course," she said, adopting a bright, cheerful (and most importantly, brainless) tone of voice. Rosemary looked somewhat puzzled, but seemed to ignore her new charge's sudden I.Q. drop.

"I've heard _so much_ about you, Miss Granger," Malfoy said with a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.

Hermione couldn't run. She couldn't hex the bastard, either. She _supposed s_he'd be able to shout "He's a Death Eater!" but she couldn't see how that would help. Even if Rosemary believed her, he'd simply memory charm them both. And he was supposed to be interrogating her as to what the future was like. He probably had some sort of truth detector on him- it was standard for any interrogation. Damn. What was she going to _do_? It wasn't as if she could simply _stay_ here and make polite conversation… or was it?

Alright, now she had a plan. She would play dumb and hope he went away. If he asked her questions, she would reply using strictly true statements that were nevertheless misleading. Her main priorities were to keep Rosemary in the room and to avoid eye contact and hope like hell Malfoy didn't know any Legilmency.

The silence had been going on a bit too long. "I've heard a lot about you, too!" she said brightly. "I'm in the same year as your son, you know- in my time, he's the seeker for Slytherin."

Rosemary Lupin smiled. "That's wonderful," she said, glancing at her watch. "I hate to leave you two so soon, but I'm going on my lunch break now. I'll be back in about half and hour."

So much for keeping Rosemary in the room.

Malfoy turned his back on Hermione to speak to the Healer. "Oh, it's no trouble, I assure you," he reassured her politely in his well cultured-voice. It didn't seem to have it's usual charming effect, however, as Rosemary Lupin's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

* * *

Rosemary Lupin looked uneasy. It was hard to tell, but someone who knew her well could spot the slight tightening of skin by the corners of her mouth and eyes. Remus Lupin knew his mother very well. 

"Mum," he said as he watched her cut her sandwich in half, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Remus," she said distractedly as she dug into her meal. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, nothing really important," she amended. "I was just wondering if I shouldn't have left Hermione by herself like that."

Remus' mouth quirked upward as a surge of amusement took him. "You do realize I have no idea what you're talking about, don't you?" he asked. "This is about the girl you're thinking of taking in though, right? So what are you worried about?"

"Well, her interview with the ministry official is today, and I… well, I thought they were getting along all right, but then Hermione caught my eye as I was leaving, and she looked… rather nervous. Umm… more like terrified."

Remus mulled this over a bit. He'd heard a lot about Hermione Granger from Mum over the course of the past week, though he hadn't met her himself. And something seemed wrong. His mother seemed to know this, too. "That doesn't seem like her- not from what you've told me." Remus remarked, trying to get to the root of the matter. "was she acting strangely before she gave you that look?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. She seemed.. I don't know. She had a kind of manic cheerfulness about her- and her voice was funny. All exclamation points and no forty-year old vocabulary, which is the norm for her. I suppose she had more cause to be nervous now, though." Rosemary seemed to be trying to reassure herself. "After all, she's supposed to be telling the Ministry official everything- well, about how she got here, and what the future's like, and so forth."

Remus frowned. "What if she doesn't trust the Ministry official? Just who is he, anyway?"

Rosemary Lupin looked relieved. "Oh, don't worry about that. It's Lucius Malfoy- he's been making generous donations to the Ministry for ages. There won't be a problem on _that_ front, at least."

_Malfoy._ Remus really, really wished Dumbledore hadn't left the country. He looked his mother in the eye. "Um… I wouldn't be so sure…"

* * *

Hermione Granger stuck to the facts. They were quite interesting facts, and she made sure Lucius Malfoy focused on them. Happily for her own well-being, (and the rest of the Wizarding world's) they had very little to do with what had actually happened at the Ministry. 

Fact #1: One of her friends had a guardian who worked in the Ministry. (She refused to say who, because "Oh! I wouldn't want them to get in trouble with their parents for something that hasn't even happened!" But mostly because she knew that Malfoy would do his best to get Mr. Weasley fired if she mentioned him in any way.)

Fact #2: She had gone into the Ministry with her friend to see his guardian. (Different friend, different guardian, and there were quite a few other people around as well- but she carefully omitted these bits of information.)

Fact #3: The Ministry had seemed to be empty. (Quite true.)

Fact #4: She'd become very curious about the door on a particular corridor, her friend even more so. (This was not why they entered it, but it was nevertheless true.)

Fact #5: They'd gone inside.

Fact #6: One of the Ministry officials had gone quite mad. (Mr. Bode, back in December. Malfoy had never specified that she tell the story in chronological order, after all.

Fact #7: She and her friend had run for their lives, and then she'd been hit with a strange purple light. After that, she'd fallen unconscious.

All in all, she thought, it wasn't a bad story. It was even easier when he asked her for information on the future. She could talk for hours about disasters totally unrelated to Voldemort and Death Eater activity- robberies that could be prevented, natural disasters to prepare for- without ever once lying. And look- his Sneakascope hadn't even lighted up! She gave herself a mental pat of self-congratulation.

All the same, she was very relieved when Rosemary came in, a good ten minutes early. There was only so much more of Malfoy's company she could take without hexing him.

* * *

Hermione didn't have a visit from the Ministry again. Before Lucius Malfoy left, she had assured him that she'd told all "that it would be remotely helpful to tell", once again taking comfort in strict fact. It _certainly_ wouldn't be helpful to tell a Death Eater so much important knowledge about the future, after all. 

It wasn't until later that night, the last night she would spend in St. Mungo's before going off to Mrs. Lupin's house, that she remembered.

_Sirius._ She would really have to do something about that, she decided. And since she couldn't count on the Ministry… hmm. Dumbledore would (probably) believe her, but he wouldn't be able to get Sirius out of Azkaban. Even if he could, Sirius would have to live the rest of his life in hiding.

And… (she felt guilty even thinking this) she also had to consider that the Ministry would know she was somehow involved. Because she hadn't told them about Sirius escaping from Azkaban beforehand, in the other timeline. And they would know that such a large change in events would have _had_ to have somehow originated from her. She didn't want to go to jail, not at all.

So, what she needed to do was prove to the Ministry that Sirius was innocent. But she couldn't do that without "Scabbers". And Pettigrew would undoubtedly know something was wrong if Dumbledore or Lupin (the only people she had the _slightest_ chance of convincing) showed up on the Weasley's front door looking for a rat.

So the person to find Pettigrew would have to be someone inconspicuous. Someone nobody would think was a threat. Like a half-paralyzed teenage girl, perhaps a friend of Bill's from school…

Hermione looked up at the ceiling apprehensively. It would work. She hated the idea, (why did _she _always have to solve the puzzle, discover the basilisk- couldn't some Auror do it?) but it would work. All she had to do was to make friends with Bill, and somehow get herself invited to the Weasley's. Not a great plan, by any means- but she didn't exactly have a better one. And (she shivered) Percy might not even have Pettigrew yet. It might be Charlie, or Bill himself.

She worked out the ages in her head. Yes, Charlie and Bill would both be at Hogwarts- Bill as a fourth year, Charlie as a second. So there was a good chance -a very good chance- that Scabbers would be with one of them. Ron had said something about that during one of their fights, something about Scabbers going to Hogwarts with Bill because he was lonely, awayat Hogwarts for the first time…

She dozed off like that, lost in dreams of rats and stags and blood, until Rosemary Lupin's voice shook her awake the next morning.

"Rise and shine- you're moving to my house today, remember?"

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**A/N:Thanks for all your lovely reviews so far. Keep 'em coming! **

**(Also, I'll try to update at least once a week.)**


	4. Chapter 3: Accessibility

**A/N:**

The "away from Hogwarts from the first time" was the result of a vicious attack by the typo monster, which was cunning enough to hide from my own self-check system. Sorry for the confusion. It should have been, "away AT Hogwarts for the first time."

And yes, Bill is in his fourth year now, Ron was referring to December in BILL'S first year, which happened in 1981. (In my universe, Bill got Scabbers for Christmas.)

Yes, Tonks IS going to be in this story. Originally she was a very minor character, but she seems to have developed a life of her own now, and she'll probably be appearing a lot more than I had first thought.

Sneakascopes… from what I have read in canon, it seems to me they light up when someone untrustworthy OTHER THAN THE OWNER is around. (The one argument against this would be when Ron was strapping the Sneakascope to Errol and it lit up, but, as that was a gift for Harry, it seemed that Harry was technically the owner at that point in time.) It'd be a poor magical artifact that didn't act for it's owner's benefit. That's just my take on things, though.

As for Hermione… she really is stuck in the past forever. If you read back to Chapter 1: Awakening, you'll see that they tell her that her timeline was destroyed when she went back in the past. From now on, the only future is the one she makes for herself.

That leads into your question about Harry and Ron. Sorry, but you won't see them at all in this particular story. (although I may write a sequel… we'll see.) Six-year-olds aren't much fun to write about for an extended period of time, in my opinion- however cute they may be. There will be references, however.

If I do get around to writing that one-shot about what happened in the Department of Mysteries prior to Hermione's accident, then they'll show, but I won't do that until after I'm done this story.

Thanks for reviewing!

P.S. A point to anyone who sees a trend in my chapter titles!

P.P.S. Just to stave off the questions- no, it's not RL/HG. (This story does seem to have a life of it's own, though. I hadn't planned their first meeting to be like this at all.)

And I got the core and wood type of Hermione's wand from J.K. Rowling's official website.

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Disclaimer: Read my other disclaimers.**

**Chapter 3:Accessibility**

**"Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it."-Samuel Johnson**

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* * *

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* * *

Remus Lupin popped his head in the kitchen door. "Mum?"

His mum looked up from the table where she was working on her case files, as did… (he groaned inwardly) the new girl. He'd wanted to have a chance to talk with his mother before Hermione Granger came here to live for good. He still didn't know whether or not she knew about his condition…

Hermione beamed brightly at him, though she looked a bit shy. "Hello! I thought you two were related! I'm glad to see a familiar face."

He must have looked dumfounded, because she blushed rather self-consciously. "I mean… well, uh…"

Rosemary Lupin raised her eyebrows, amused. "Do tell."

"You were… uh… at my friend's house- well, visiting, I mean, I stayed over during the summer. A lot of people from the Or- a lot of people, really, came over." Seeming to realize that this wasn't the best explanation, she elaborated. "I actually knew you before that, I mean. Third Year. You taught Defense Against the Dark Arts." (He reflected later that she hadn't actually been elaborating, but skillfully changing the subject.)

His shock must have shown on his face.The Ministry would actually let him- let werewolves- around _children_ in the future, when he had to struggle to get a job moving heavy objects_ today!_

"Sit down, Remus," his mother said, pulling out a chair. The she turned to Hermione. "So my son taught you Defense?"

"Yes," she replied, sounding more comfortable. "You were the best, you know," she said to him.

His lips quirked upward in a cynical grin. "I doubt that," he replied as his more morbid side came to the forefront, as it had more and more often since that Halloween night. "If I was the best, I probably would have lasted longer than a year."

The girl frowned at him, perhaps catching his mood. "Well, _nobody_ lasted longer than a year. And you actually made it past exams, which was a plus. Actually," she turned thoughtful, "you're the only Defense teacher who wasn't injured or anything."

Remus raised his eyes. "The _only _one? What, were the wizards before me all a bunch of klutzes who fell down the stairs at every opportunity?"

Now Hermione laughed out loud. "No-but, well… I know an Auror like that." Her expression darkened. "I mean, knew." Now she sighed. "I suppose she's not an Auror yet, actually." Her eyes stared past him, remembering something -or someone- that didn't exist to anyone but her. Not yet, at least.

"Well, I'm sure she will be." He tried to turn the conversation to more cheerful matters. "I do hope you told the Ministry about all these horrible injuries so they could prevent them." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cursed. He'd forgotten about Lucius Malfoy interrogating the girl. Hopefully, the "injuries" were merely accidents, not connected with Death Eater activity. If the girl didn't know much, the Death Eaters might (_might_) leave her alone.

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Well… um, nothing really _that_ important happened," she said, obviously lying. "So I figured I'd wait and maybe tell the Headmaster instead. I mean, why go to the Ministry about Hogwarts' staffing problems, right?" She laughed nervously.

He hoped she'd been better at convincing Malfoy she didn't know anything, but he felt his opinion of her rise up a notch, all the same. She was obviously smart enough to distrust Malfoy, something he couldn't even convince his own mother to do.

But she did seem to be sincere about telling Dumbledore. He supposed she should know… "Actually, I heard he's out of the country- will be for the next few months."

Hermione blinked as if stunned. "What! Why?"

Remus inwardly winced. He hoped the future wasn't so bad that the girl needed to see Dumbledore right away. "Business in Albania, I believe."

_Now_ she really looked stunned. "_Albania!"_

He really, really hoped she'd been better at hiding significant details from Malfoy. "What," he asked, keeping his tone lighthearted, "something wrong with Albanians?"

She cracked a smile. "Only one that I know of," she muttered darkly, though not without some humor. "But then, he's not a native of the country, so I suppose not."

And it was on this cheerful note that they ended the conversation, as Rosemary Lupin insisted the girl go lie down in the guest bed. "You need at _least_ fifteen hours of sleep if you're going to heal properly, young lady!"

He heard Hermione's protests as she was led to the spare bedroom. "Could I at least study for my O.W.L.S.? I'll be lying down, resting and everything!"

"You'll have a full two weeks to study once you get back to Hogwarts- and what are you talking about, you've already taken the test!"

"Well, they may have changed some of the material in ten years' time."

"No arguments. Now sleep."

Rosemary Lupin came back into the kitchen, a pleased smile on her face.

"She reminds me of you," she said as she plopped down at the table, taking out some more biscuits from the tin. "And not in a good way," she added, mock-stern. "Hermione doesn't seems to realise that just because she _can_ walk now doesn't mean it's a good idea to do so." Her eyes were twinkling, though.

Remus laughed. "Yes, that's rather true. Awfully sharp, though. She seems to know a lot." He reached for another biscuit.

Rosemary sighed. "Rather too much, actually. She still doesn't seem quite happy. Hopefully she'll be better off at Hogwarts- from what I've heard, it's like a second home to her."

"Yes," Remus replied rather distractedly. Something was still niggling him, something about what the new girl knew- or seemed to know. Oh, well. He was sure it would come to him in time.

They turned the conversation on to other things, and he didn't remember until three days later when Hermione made the trip to Hogwarts.

_"a lot of people from the Or- a lot of people really, came over."_ The girl didn't trust Lucius Malfoy. She was Muggleborn and she had something to tell Dumbledore. He really, really hoped this didn't mean what it seemed to. But no. Even if Voldemort had come back in that future, the Order would never have let a mere fifth year girl know of their existence.

Certainly not.

* * *

Hermione felt slightly guilty as she walked through Madam Malkin's, trying to find a sturdy-looking secondhand school robe. It was clear the Lupins didn't have much money, despite Rosemary's rather well-paying job. Then again, the medical bills for Prof- _Remus_- must be pretty high. She couldn't help but feel like something of a freeloader. For goodness sake, she wouldn't even be able to afford Christmas presents for them! But Rosemary wouldn't hear of it when Hermione had offered to pay her back…

"Found some you like?" the woman in question asked her, idly flipping through the rack.

"Oh, yes." Hermione blushed as she held out the three robes she'd chosen. "You really didn't have to do this-"

"Nonsense, dear. It's high time I went on a shopping spree- I haven't been to Diagon Alley in a long time," Rosemary replied as she handed the money (three sickles) to the well-dressed witch. Hermione stumbled a bit on the steps going out- she was still rather shaky on her legs- and Rosemary grabbed her arm to pull her up. 

"Where next?"her foster-motherasked as they made their way outside, ducking under the vender's stalls to avoid the rain pouring down from above.

"Umm… Flourish and Blotts, maybe we'll be able to find something in the used section," said Hermione, grateful for those years of shopping with the Weasleys. "And then… well, I think I need a wand…" She winced. Wands were expensive.

"Wand first," Rosemary said, walking under the eaves toward Olivander's. "What kind did you have beforehand?"

"Dragon heartstring and vine wood, seven and a half inches," Hermione replied as they entered the dusty shop.

"Short," was all Rosemary said in reply.

Hermione got the same one this time around, too. Thank goodness. She didn't know how many more changes she could take.

* * *

Tomorrow she would leave to go to Hogwarts. Hermione suppressed the thrill of anxiety that had welled up inside her. She had counted on Dumbledore's presence when she had first planned capturing Pettigrew. Without him, things could get dangerous.

Now there was _nobody_ she could tell about Pettigrew, and that worried her.

She wondered if she should tell Professor Lu- _Remus_, just in case. But she hadn't even seen him since that first short conversation in the kitchen, and- well, to be honest, she wasn't too sure if he'd believe her. He'd _want_ to, maybe, but- right now, Remus would as soon kill Sirius Black as look at him.

Either that or he would believe her, all too well, and either go chasing off to free Sirius from Azkaban (which wouldn't work, she was sure), or to get revenge on Pettigrew. This Remus was ten years younger, and rather less practical than he had been in her time. It was rather easier to see what he was thinking about, too.

She wondered what had happened to change that.

At any rate, she really couldn't tell him. Although she wasn't sure that he would opt for personal revenge, she _was _sure that a reasonably nice person like Remus wouldn't allow a "child" to get mixed up in these "dangerous affairs." Neither would Rosemary, for that matter.

Hermione snorted in amusement. People always did try to underestimate her, and it took them the longest time to prove them wrong. But then, she wanted to be underestimated now. Otherwise, Pettigrew might very well get suspicious of her hanging around, once she got to Hogwarts. She sighed.

If Harry and Ron had been here, she was sure they'd have had Sirius freed in no time. Hermione _needed_ them, damn it! She was the planner, the researcher, the one who figured things out- she never had had to do anything like this by _herself_ before! Why- she cut herself off in mid rant.

There didn't have to be a why. Life didn't work like that.

She'd lost her world, yes. But so had Sirius, when Harry's parents had died, and at least the new world (well timeline, really) _she'd _found herself in wasn't an incarnation of hell on earth. Just the thought of what was happening to Sirius in Azkaban, perhaps at this very moment…

She shook herself out of her morose thought with a mental slap. This wasn't like her. Hermione had never before hesitated before danger, not if it was a risk that needed to be taken. And this was something that had to be done. She would leave for Hogwarts tomorrow, and she'd better have a plan by then.

It wasn't just her life on the line. If Pettigrew discovered her intentions, not only would she be killed, Sirius would lose his best chance at getting freed. And even if he did, in third year, he might very well lose his soul without the help of her time turner.

So, that was something that needed to be done. She needed a contingency plan if the worst happened- but who to tell? Remus was the best bet. There wouldn't be the problem of proving herself if he received a letter _after _Pettigrew had attacked her, she thought sardonically. Her sudden, "accidental" death would probably be proof enough in that case.

Another thing she needed to do was to see if Wormtail really was at Hogwarts. It would be far too suspicious to simply ask, especially as there would probably be rumors about the "mysterious new student." And she needed to be able to find him at a moment's notice.

It was a shame she didn't have the Marauders Map or the Invisibility cloak… that was it! Harry had gotten the map from Fred and George, and _they'd_ it stolen from Filch, so it should be fairly easy to... Hermione groaned.

It looked like she was destined to be a lawbreaker.


	5. Chapter 4: Academia

**A/N:**

Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I'm afraind I can't even say that it was particualrly long, either. Unfortunately, the next one will be awile in coming, as well- exams are nigh, and I'm freaking out. But after school ends, I'll be updating like crazy, so no fear.

And sorry if the pacing was confusing. I made a few (very minor) edits to that chapter that might clear things up. Thanks for telling me about it- I don't expect psychic readers, and I don't want you to be confused unless I'm deliberately trying to be confusing (which I sometime am, in the name of foreshadowing.)

As for Sirius and Hermione's relationship…. There will be some (very mild) SB/HG. They're not going to declare their passionate, undying love for each other just yet. Hermione's still a little young, and Sirius need some time to recover from Azkaban. So probably not in _this_ story. (Yes I'm already planning a sequel.)

P.S. Didanyone notice that their age difference is now the same as the one between Tonks and Remus? Or the theme in my chapter titles?

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**Chapter 4: Academia**

"**If you think education is expensive, try ignorance."-Andy McIntyre**

* * *

Hermione held on to the handle of her worn and battered trunk as she stared at the fireplace. Any minute now, Professor McGonagall would come through to take her to Hogwarts. What was going to happen then, though? Would she be re-sorted? Would she be able to take her O.W.L.S.? What if she was behind the rest of the class? What if-

"Remember to take the green and purple potions every day for the next two weeks, then you can switch over to red," her foster mother instructed. Hermione wasn't really listening, to busy waiting for the fire to flare that tell-tale green.

"Uh-uh."

"I told Madam Pomfrey, so she'll know to give them to you when you go to the Hospital Wing," Rosemary reassured her.

"Uh-uh." Hermione fidgeted in her chair nervously.

"Professor McGonagall said that since you haven't attended any lessons before now, you automatically get a zero for every class assignment missed."

"Uh-uh." The words didn't really register until a few seconds later. Hermione looked up at Rosemary, shock and dismay written all over her face. "Not really?"

"No, not really, Hermione." Rosemary was smiling, but she looked concerned. "It's okay to be nervous, dear. Every student is, on their first day of school."

"I know," Hermione mumbled. She wanted to tell Rosemary that it wasn't _really_ her first day of school, to ask how _she_ would feel if every friend she'd ever had had been ripped away, to take out her frustration on someone else for a change… but, then, Rosemary already knew about her situation. Telling her foster mother again wouldn't make things better, and she didn't want to leave the Lupins' house on such a bad note.

Hermione _was_ nervous, it was true. What would Hogwarts be like, in this different timeline? What would the students' reactions be? She knew her story had made the papers- a time traveler wasn't exactly something you could keep from the media for long, especially with all those Ministry workers "investigating her case."

Her appearance had revolutionized the theory of time travel, proved wrong not a few Arithmetic equations, and raised interesting sociological questions.

She remembered how, just last week, one particularly noxious individually had demanded she'd beterminated to "preserve the timeline's consistency." Luckily, cooler heads had prevailed- especially after the Department Head Augustus Forthwright, himself an arithmetic genius, had proved that magic smoothed out any paradoxes and her appearance wouldn't cause farther harm to anyone. She shuddered to think what state she would be in if he hadn't.

But the point was that the media almost certainly knew that a time traveler had arrived, if not her name or age. She thanked Merlin that the Ministry wanted her identity kept secret, or the news that someone from the future had come would be through the school in no time. The students at Hogwarts were far from stupid, however.

There would be rumors aplenty about the mysterious student joining Hogwarts for the last month of the school year, and one of the little gossipers might just hit upon the truth. If Pettigrew heard about "the new girl who might be a time traveler," he might become suspicious. If he became suspicious… her face went white.

She would just have to give the students of Hogwarts a _really interesting_ cover story to gossip about, so they wouldn't hit on the truth. A little more "playing dumb" wouldn't hurt her chances of survival, either.

Her anxious worrying ended when the fire turned green. All that was left of her nervousness was a lead weight in her stomach.

* * *

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks followed the temporary Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, a shameless grin on her face as she walked briskly after her Head of House.

Well, tried to walk briskly. Tripped briskly, really. On the upside, though, she'd hadn't fallen on McGonagall.

_That_ would have been a disaster. Her Transfiguration teacher was in a bad enough mood as it was. Something about some new girl she was late to escort or whatever.

"Now Miss Tonks, I want you to wait in here while I speak to Miss Granger and her current guardian. Remember that this is a detention, and just because I am not here to supervise you does not mean you are free to do as you please. I want all these birds-" she pointed at the ugly and (in many cases) malformed creatures, "to be re-transfigured into their original state before I use them for the next Third Year lesson. Glass vials," she added, correctly interpreting Tonks' confused stare. Giving her student one last glare, she adjusted her cloak and threw the floo powder into the fire. "Lupin Cottage," she called, stepping through.

_Glass vials._ "Well, great," Tonks said to the empty room, "this should work out just fine." There was no audience to appreciate her sarcasm, however, and she continued her work in silence.

It wasn't until three hours later that McGonagall returned, the timid-looking new student in tow. Tonks straightened her spine and flashed a beaming smile. "Wow, a new student!" she exclaimed, seeing an opportunity for some mischief. "Professor, however _did_ you find one!"

"I'd just like to say," Tonks continued, "that I'm so _glad_ you weren't scared off by our poltergeist, numerous ghosts, or plethora of sadistic and rather evil teachers- not to mention our frightening proximity to a forest full of monsters. It speaks a lot for your character that you decided to attend Hogwarts even after hearing-"

"_Miss Tonks!" _McGonagall screamed. "I have half a mind to-" she stopped, perhaps realizing that this display of anger would not give not the best first impression of Hogwarts and it's teachers. "I'm incredibly disappointed in you. Miss Granger has just suffered a very traumatizing ordeal, and I'd have thought that a student of my house would have been more welcoming to a fellow classmate."

Shoot.

She always did things like that, joking first and thinking later. It was bad enough that she tripped over everything in sight- did she really have put her foot in her mouth all the time as well? Mentally preparing her apology, she turned to the girl. "Look, I-"

"Don't have anything to be sorry for," the new student finished kindly, though she looked faintly indignant at something. (Possibly at McGonagall implication that she was traumatized.) "It was just a joke, after all."

"Be that as it may," McGonagall continued, "I don't want you pulling any of your regular stunts, Miss Tonks." She sighed. "I hope I can at least trust you to escort Miss Granger to Gryffindor Tower? She'll be residing in the fifth year dormitory-"

"But we've got no _room!" _Tonks protested.

"In the fifth year dormitory," McGonagall repeated forcefully, "where there is now an extra bed."

"Why can't the fifth year girls have an extra dormitory, then? We wouldn't be crammed in like flobberworms in a jar if-"

_"_That is _enough_, Miss Tonks. Now wait outside my office while I have a private word with Miss Granger."

Tonks stomped out in a huff, the glass vials she'd transfigured shaking with each step. Usually McGonagall was a bit more patient than that, at least with her. And why was the new girl being sent straight to Gryffindor Tower ? Shouldn't she be sorted, first?

Tonks employed the age-old Gryffindor method of discovering answers: shameless eavesdropping.

Unfortunately, McGonagall seemed to be well aware of the age-old Gryffindor method of discovering answers, and had lowered her voice accordingly.

Fortunately, the new girl hadn't.

_Murmur, murmur. _

"Oh, no, not at all. She reminds me of… an old friend back home, actually."

_Murmur, murmur._

"I'm fine without joining a study group, I don't need to catch up- I'm actually a bit ahead in my cla-"

_Murmur, murmur._

The new girl (it _was_ Granger, wasn't it? Not Ranger?) sighed. "Well, of course, if you insist- but I assure you, it really isn't necessary."

_Murmur, murmur._

"No, I don't need- actually, yes. I was just wondering about my schedule. Um, you see, I'm going to have to go to Madam Pomfrey every day at noon- just to receive my potions, you understand. I'd carry them myself, but they _are_ rather strong, and Ministry regulations state that-"

_Murmur, Murmur._

"Oh, thank you, Yes, I'll have enough time to go between classes."

There were a few seconds of silence, and Tonks was just starting to wonder if she should back away from the door before it opened when Granger (possibly Ranger) spoke again.

"I suppose that's it, then. Except- I can't believe I forgot- do you know when Dumbledore will be coming back to the school?"

Tonks pressed her ear even closer to the door, hoping to hear McGonagall's response.

Rather too closely, actually.

So closely, in fact, that the door sprang open, dumping Tonks into the room- subsequently tipping the table holding the hundred or so glass vials that she'd so painstakingly transfigured.

* * *

* * *

Hermione Granger wasn't amused. Really, she wasn't. The smile tugging at the corner of her mouth- no, the _muscle spasm_ she was currently experiencing- was a sign of anger.

Because really, what kind of person deliberately eavesdropped on _private_ conversations!

_You,_ her mind supplied. _Harry. Ron. Every Weasley under the age of twenty._

_But we had good reasons!_ she inwardly protested. _There was usually a dark wizard on the loose!_

_And there is _still _a dark wizard on the loose, remember? _Her infuriatingly logical side replied. _You'd do well to make some nosy friends- if Pettigrew gets wind of you, you want to know someone smart enough to get worried if the "new girl" mysteriously disappears. And you shouldn't talk to yourself; it's not healthy._

She came back to herself just in time to hear McGonagall reply, "He should be back by the beginning of next year. Unless there is an emergency, he won't be back before then- though I'm sure he'd be pleased to know how _eagerly _the students are awaiting news of his return," she finished dryly, looking at Tonks..

"I'm sorry, Professor," the pink-haired teen stuttered out as McGonagall vanished away the broken glass. (It hadn't hit anyone, thankfully.) "Honest, I was just-"

"In the name of honesty," McGonagall cut her off sternly, "I won't ask you to continue your story. However," she continued, (and Hermione could detect a faint twinkle in her eye), "I'll refrain from giving you detention if you help Miss Granger here with her luggage. I have quite a bit of marking to do."

And with that, she waved both girls out of her room and shut the door.

* * *

* * *


	6. Chapter 5: Adjustments

**Chapter 5: Adjustments**

"In any social network there are always some people who are as it were "friends" by social compulsion, though if the net fell apart they would seldom if ever see each other." -Alison Lurie

* * *

* * *

The fifth year girls' room was just as crowded as Tonks had said.

A total of seven beds were crammed into the small dormitory- a change from the three-person room she had shared in her own time. There weren't any dressers for clothes, either- everything was stored in the trunks. Girls lounged on the beds, alternately chatting about the latest love potion featured in Witch Weekly and furiously studying for their O.W.L.S.- only a month away, in this timeline.

It wasn't her Hogwarts.

Hermione's Hogwarts would have had Lavender and Parvati doing each others' nails as they absently asked her if she'd learned any good cosmetic charms recently, or why someone's attempt at them had gone wrong. Hermione's Hogwarts would have had Ginny Weasley slipping in to chat about school and boys and fears about the war that neither one could have mentioned to Harry and Ron, who always seemed terribly uncomfortable when they caught their best friend "acting like a girl." Hermione's Hogwarts would have had Crookshanks prowling around as if he owned all of Gryffindor Tower- but always jumping into her lap whenever she felt that familiar ache of homesickness.

Well, Hermione was homesick _now,_ and Crookshanks wasn't here.

She felt her throat close up. She'd not been this homesick for a good long while… not since first year. But she could deal with it. It was silly getting upset over something she couldn't change. She should be working on- on capturing Pettigrew. Right.

Really, what did it matter whether she made friends here or not?

She'd never see Harry and Ron again, never see her parents again. Why try to expand a now non-existent social life? She had enough to be doing, really.

And so Hermione Granger nodded shortly as she was introduced to the other five girls in the dorm, then walked over to her new bed and pulled out a second-hand copy of _Combating the Dark Arts: A Guide to Defensive Magicks._ She didn't engage in the idle Friday-night gossip that floated about the room, but instead made notes on general, wide-ranging containment spells that could cover large areas- eliminating the need to directly hit a small, darting rodent.

She closed out the world, much the way she had done in her first year- and with much the same results.

* * *

* * *

"Bit of a snob, isn't she?" Caroline remarked as she absently rubbed her prefect's badge. Tonks snorted in her breakfast. There was something ironic in seeing Caroline Sprout, a pureblood witch accustomed to wealth and power since the moment of her birth, dubbing someone else "a snob."

Still, maybe Caroline had a point- Hermione had been fairly anti-social from the moment she entered the dorm.

"I mean, personally, I think she's compensating for something," the girl continued with a shake of her white-blond hair (Tonks couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a Malfoy somewhere in her ancestry). "Clearly she doesn't have much money; she obviously can't afford proper hair care And did you _see_ the state of her robes? I'm sure I haven't heard her last name mentioned anywhere, either. Probably a half-blood- she _can't _have much good breeding."

But perhaps Hermione was simply an extremely insightful judge of character who could recognize bigots from a distance- the result would be much the same.

"Not that all half-bloods have bad breeding!" Caroline corrected herself breathily, realizing who she was speaking to. "Why, my own cousin, Pomona Sprout, has many close friends of inferior birth who are quite charming- you wouldn't even know they had been raised in the Muggle world!" At this she gave a cheery little laugh.

Tonks wanted to punch her face in.

She would have, too- if it hadn't been for Bill Weasley's timely intervention.

"I need to talk to Tonks," he said quickly, seeing his friend's murderous expression. "Girl advice, very private," he elaborated in response to Caroline's questioning look. His excuse wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility, thought Tonks -sometimes he really _did_ askher for advice in dealing with a girlfriend (usually in breaking up with them, actually, though not many knew that.)

"Oh?" the pureblood witch replied, batting her eyelids. "Is there a _particular _girl you're interested in?"

"One of the Ravenclaws," he replied vaguely before grabbing his friend and heading out. (Tonks allowed herself a moment of amusement through her fury. Boys really were thick at times.)

"Come _on_," he muttered, dragging her by the arm. "You know better than to try to have a conversation with Caroline by now! Last time you hexed her for saying something like that, McGonagall gave you three days of detention!"

"I still can't see how they made someone like her a _Pref_-"

"I _know!" _Bill stopped just before the doors of the Great Hall and looked at her. "The point is, Caroline's always on her best behavior in McGonagall's class- and she's very popular." Then he sighed. "And you know she'll apologize by tomorrow; she just doesn't always realize when she says something… rude like that."

"It's not about me," Tonks managed to grit out. "I'm just so sick of her- her condescending attitude to everyone who isn't a pureblood! And you know she'll mention my Black lineage in her apology at least three times when she _does_ realize that she said something that "might possibly have been rude."

"As if I needed to be reminded of my _charming_ relatives," she added sourly. Bill was her friend, yes- they'd been mates since she'd first met him in the beginning of her second year- but he really didn't understand about some things. Like touchy subjects. And people needing to vent some steam once in a while without being interrupted with infuriatingly reasonable attempts to calm them down.

At that precise movement, the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall burst open, hitting Bill Weasley squarely in the chest and knocking him to the stone floor. Where he then proceeded to hit his head.

Hermione Granger looked down in horror, dropping the dozen or so heavy textbooks she was holding as said doors swung shut behind her.

* * *

* * *

Bill Weasley woke up to the bright lights of the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey's stern countenance. He quickly closed his eyes. "I feel like I've been hit with a good dozen stunners," he groaned. "What happened?"

"A cracked rib and a concussion, apparently," Tonks replied dryly from his bedside. "_Someone _was walking with about twenty million books in their arms, and didn't bother to look where they were going. You got hit when the door of the Great Hall banged into you- we were standing right in front of it."

That description seemed to ring a bell- something about some rumor at breakfast this morning- but he wasn't up to figuring it out. He could probably mange to look at Tonks, though. Turning his head was more difficult than he anticipated, however, and all he could see was a mass of frizzy hair out of the corner of his eye. (This wasn't because of his concussion- Madam Pomfrey had just been a bit too enthusiastic in bandaging his head.)

"What's with the brown bird's nest?" he asked, surprised. "I thought you preferred it pink."

There was a brief silence before an unfamiliar voice replied, "I _was_ going to beg forgiveness for accidentally banging that door into you, but somehow I feel a lot less guilty than I did five minutes ago." The bushy-haired girl (who was decidedly _not_ Tonks) stomped out of the room.

"For all your girlfriends," Tonks remarked, "you really are horrible at dealing with women."

* * *

* * *

Hermione Granger sat reading in the library. Again.

The slight twinge in her chest reminded her she did have somewhere else to be, this time- but she did _not_ want to go back into the hospital wing. Compared with his eldest brother, Ron was a picture of decorum and tranquility. Well, not tranquility, she supposed. With Harry (and herself and Ron) getting into trouble at every opportunity, "tranquil" was not a word that could describe their lives. No, could _have_ described their lives. Past tense.

Well she doubted she could use "tranquil" now, either. Certainly not in her case, and even a six-year-old Ron Weasley would still have to deal with his twin brothers. As for Harry and the Dursleys… well, enough said.

She tried to ignore the slight pain and put off the hospital visit by reading her book a bit more, but the letters were blurry and shifting and her eyes couldn't focus for some reason. She was tired, probably. Or maybe she needed reading glasses- the candlelight at this table wasn't much good.

At least Rosemary's house had had electric lighting- she never had gotten completely used to the torches that lined the Hogwarts walls.

She sighed. Hermione doubted the witch would be very pleased if she found out her new charge was putting off medical treatment. It was three-fifteen, and she should have received her potion over three hours ago. With a sigh, she got up and headed toward the infirmary, taking her books with her (though this time she looked where she was going.) After all, there was always the chance Bill had been let out early. And if there were no new patients, she could have some privacy, although in all probability nobody would notice her taking the potion anyway.

* * *

* * *

Or not.

There were at least half-dozen conscious patients in the hospital wing, all looking bored enough to seize on her appearance as a source of entertainment. Three older, dark-looking Slytherins with boils on their faces, a blond-haired Gryffindor her own age with pus oozing out her ears, a tiny Hufflepuff (first year?) who was hiccupping large multi-colored bubbles, and a certain red-headed fourth year all looked over at her simultaneously.

"Visitors' hours are between ten and three, dear- my patients are here for a reason, and they need their rest," the matronly witch sternly informed her. "If you're here for Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

She ignored said Weasley's curious and half-apologetic glances from the bed across the room, instead holding her books -they really were rather heavy- closer to her chest as she spoke directly to Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, no ma'am," she said politely, "My name is Hermione Granger; I've come to pick up the potio-"

"You!" Madam Pomfrey practically screeched, and Hermione nearly jumped a foot. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bill Weasley (as well as the other occupants of the hospital wing) start violently. "What are you doing, carrying those heavy books in your condition?" the witch yelled. "I'm surprised you're still walking around; you're at least three hours late for your potion. Now sit!"

Surprised, Hermione did just that. _She'd_ never been yelled at by Madam Pomfrey before; that was usually Harry's job. Trying to defend her actions as the witch bustled about in the cabinets , she started, "I was in the library, and I suppose I just lost track of time…" Even to her ears, the excuse sounded lame.

"Well, Miss Granger, I suggest you start being _on time_. I'm going to have a word with your guardians about the importance of receiving proper medical care- I really don't think you should even be in school in this state."

"But I'm fine!" Hermione protested. "It's just a little chest pain- why shouldn't I be in school?"

"Because, Miss Granger," the woman sternly replied as she poured the liquid down Hermione's throat, "you were hit with some very dark magic. In the event of relapse -which is _entirely possible _if you keep on putting off your potion and carrying fifteen pounds worth of books around- I will be _completely_ unable to help you. So sit still and let the potions do their work."

"Oh," Hermione replied, rather shocked by it all. Rosemary had played things down a bit- probably not wanting to scare her.

She was so shocked that she didn't even notice that all the other patients were looking at her. Well, not until about five seconds had passed, at any rate.

As she tried to avoid Bill's particularly wide-eyed gaze (and wondered why in the name of all heaven Blondie-With-the-Pus looked _guilty_) she thought about how she'd wished she'd inspire enough conflicting rumors that no one would guess the truth about her arrival. And her desire to be underestimated. Theoretically, she should be pleased that her plan was going so well. Practice was a different matter.

* * *

* * *

_The Guardians of Hermione Granger_

_I am concerned about the state of Hermione Granger's health. Someone must impress upon her the seriousness of her situation. The dark magic involved with the curse she was hit with is of an extremely delicate nature, an I am not sure she should have been released from St. Mungo's so soon. She was at least three hours late for her potions today, and came in carrying perhaps ten pounds worth of textbooks. I cannot be responsible for the state of her welfare if she continues at this pace._

_Madam Pomfrey, Certified Healer_

_School Nurse of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_

* * *

_

_

* * *

_

_Rosemary,_

_Madam Pomfrey says she's going to write you a letter today because I was late picking up my potions. (That's not the only reason I'm writing, of course.) I really am sorry about being late; I lost track of time in the library. But I can't see why she was so angry about me carrying a few books. Cold you explain to her my dilemma? Its not as if I can accost random first years and tell them to carry my stuff._

_I'm a bit annoyed, though; at least six patients overheard her yelling to me about the curse I got, and how I have to be careful- so now the whole school thinks I'm going to drop dead any second. It's rather annoying. But other than that, school is going pretty well. We haven't had any classes yet, but I'm sure I'll do fine._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

* * *

_Poppy,_

_I assume you didn't know that "The Guardians of Hermione Granger" only consist of one guardian, myself. Don't worry about Hermione, I'll make sure she shows up on time. Don't be so worried, Poppy- I know you took the position at Hogwarts to avoid having to treat too many victims of Dark Magic, but I'm confident you'll do fine. Hermione's condition really isn't that bad, you know. She _was_ a little embarassed at having the rest of the hospitol wing hear about it on her first day, but I'm sure she'll get over it soon enough. Want to stop by some time for tea? You know you're always welcome._

_Rosemary Lupin_

* * *

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Well, I'm glad to hear you're settling in well- I hope you make some new friends. I wrote to Madam Pomfrey. She won't ban you from the library, but I can't answer for what she'll do if you come in late again. _

_As for carrying books- that's what levitating spells are for. Or you could ask one of those handsome young men in your year to carry it for you- no need to rely on bullying first years. Having the whole school concerned with your well-being would make certain that they'd say yes! _

_Love from,_

_Rosemary Lupin_

* * *

* * *

_Mum, Dad, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny;_

_School is good. Don't worry, I'm studying for my exams. Bill is fine, Well, he cracked his skull, but I meant that he isn't teasing me anymore. He wanted me to ask Dad about the new girl, Hermione Granger. Madam Pomfrey says she was hit with a dark curse and he wants to know if you heard anything about it at work. She's not foreign, he says, so you probably have. And also he wanted me to ask you if you could send five knuts so he can buy rat food for Scabbers in Hogsmeade. I'm doing great in all my classes, except potions. I'm kind of failing. But I swear it isn't my fault. Snape hates Gryffindors. Bill would tell you if he wasn't in the hospital wing. I'll make him write as soon as he gets out. Don't ground me._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

_P.S. I don't think its fair that Bill gets to go to Hogsmeade and I don't. He does all the cool stuff._

* * *

* * *

**A/N:**

**Please review! Sorry for the lateness in updating. In answer to your questions:**

**Yes, my chapter titles for this story all start with the letter "A." I wanted to limit myself, in order to inspire more creative titles. Or at least give a pattern to a lack of creativity.**

**Sirius doesn't come till- erm… pretty close to the end, I'm sorry to say. But fear not! Because**

**a) it's for a very good reason, plot-wise**

**b) there will be a sequel and**

**c) this story won't be one of those sixty-chapter deals (Not that I don't like those, but I don't have near enough time to write one)**

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews! They really do help inspire me. (Hint, hint.)**

* * *


	7. Chapter 6: Authority

Many apologies for the long, long, long wait. Very many apologies. This is a rather introspective chapter- no death-defying adventures or raging arguments- but its sets a lot of background for future conflict. (And yes, all my titles start with the letter "A." I like themes.)

* * *

**Chapter 6: Authority**

"**A teacher should have maximal authority and minimal power." -Thomas Szasz**

* * *

Hermione woke peacefully to the chirping of birds and the bright sunlight streaming through her window. And the alarm clock by the bed informing her that Transfiguration would begin in less than fifteen minutes.

Not exactly an inspiring start to her first day of classes.

However, despite running into Peeves (who had somehow procured several buckets of Replicating Goo) and almost getting caught on a trick staircase, she somehow managed to enter the classroom before the bell rang. Her feet automatically took her to her seat as she wondered whether Ron had saved her any toast. Sometimes he would sneak a bit into his bag, if he knew she had missed breakfas-

Oh, God.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the aisle, her knees suddenly weak. Was this how things would be for the rest of her life? Always looking for the other faces, searching crowds for a flash of red or a glint of green? This wasn't how it happened in books. You were supposed to sob a bit before moving on with your life. (Or go mad from grief, or die of a broken heart.) But it would be large and dramatic and finally _over_. You wouldn't still be expecting to see them every time you turned a corner. Right?

People were staring by now- they probably thought she was having some sort of panic attack- but she managed to turn and take on of the empty seats at the front, trying to compose herself as she did so. The question still lingered, despite her attempts. But Hermione had read enough, and heard enough, to know that she would eventually stop remembering with such painful clarity.

This did not make her feel a great deal better.

The bushy-haired girl was drawn out of her reverie only when Professor McGonagall began the lesson. Listening to her teacher's brisk and familiar diction, it was for Hermione easy to fall back on her extensive note-taking habits as a way to block out reality. It helped that the topic was a new one- in her time, the Vanishing of magical, semi-intelligent beings such as Jarveys and Kneazles was at best frowned upon, and certainly not taught at Hogwarts. It was true that a properly Vanuished object or creature usually reappeared after about a year… Unfortunately, thought Hermione, _properly_ and _usually_ were key words.

Watching the boy next to Tonks hex the Jarvey he was supposed to be Vanishing ("YOUR MOTHER IS A DUMPY-" "_Excreto!"_) Hermione wondered -not for the first time- whether Hogwarts students might benefit from seminars advocating against animal cruelty. Some of the teachers certainly could. She knew for a fact that there were only seven (legal) potions in Britain that required the intestines of a still-living frog, yet Snape's most favored assignment for students in detention was still live disembowelment.

Of the frog, of course.

So preoccupied was she with memories of past Transfiguration classes and her own musings on magical ethics, Hermione almost didn't hear McGonagall's quiet "I'll need to see you after class, Miss Granger." Once the comment registered, however, she had plenty of time to theorize about _why _McGonagall would want such a thing. It couldn't be related to the assignment; Hermione had Vanished her Jarvey on the first try. (It's language had had a striking resemblance to that of Mrs. Black's.)

Perhaps McGonagall had heard she'd been late to pick up her potion the day before. Perhaps the Professor was merely going to ask how she was settling in. Perhaps Dumbledore had returned and wanted to speak with her. There were a multitude of possible reasons.

There weren't quite so many reasons why the acting headmistress would want to see both her and Tonks, however, she reflected as the professor turned to speak to the other girl. Hermione hoped it wasn't anything too serious- she had enough life-or-death situations to keep track of as it was.

Hermione's wonderings were answered once the last few stragglers left the classroom, leaving just her and Tonks in front of their Professor's desk. "I was wondering if either of you were interested in joining the Ravenclaw O.W.L. study group, as there's a meeting tomorrow night," Professor McGonagall began. From her tone of voice, it was clear that the statement was more order than suggestion.

Drat. Hermione hadn't counted on this. She'd been planning on using her extra time-well, not studying, exactly, but preparing spells in case of a confrontation with Pettigrew. Establishing her reputation as a semi-invalid who kept her nose in a book and ignored the real world. Working out how to steal the Marauder's Map from Filch. That sort of thing.

By the expression on her face, Tonks seemed to share Hermione's feelings. Obviously not for quite the same reasons, however. "I really don't think I need to join a study group, Professor," the pink-haired girl replied in a polite tone. "I work best alone, and you can see for yourself how I'm doing in Transfiguration."

Looking at McGonagall's face, Hermione repressed the urge to wince. As she expected, the Acting Headmistress' reply was curt. "However, you could certainly benefit from help in your Charms work, if I am to understand Professor Flitwick's note," McGonagall said, pointing to an ominous-looking piece of parchment on her desk.

Hermione felt a strong desire to be elsewhere.

Her professor sighed, looking at Tonks. "The O.W.L. study group is a coalition of students who help each other in their _weak_ subjects. If you are serious in your ambition to become an Auror, you will have to achieve an E on your Charms O.W.L. Believe me when I say that this is the best chance you have of doing that. And as for you, Miss Granger," she continued, "this will be the most efficient way to get caught up with your classes, and familiarize yourself with the material on your O.W.L. here."

Tonks looked curious. "In Britain," McGonagall added hastily.

Hermione was about to protest- really, she wasn't quite so mediocre a student that she'd need to be tutored- but two things stopped her. The first thing was that it wouldn't be a good idea to show off her encyclopedic memory just yet. The second was that McGonagall seemed to have anticipated her rebuttal and was already speaking again.

"The group uses material from previous year's tests, and I'm sure someone will be able to lend you their notes for copying," the professor pointedly remarked.

Hermione paled. Her notes! _Five years_ worth of notes. Color-coded and highlighted and arranged in perfect order. Every Arithmetic formula shown by Vector, every obscure date mentioned by Binns- all gone. She sat down on one of the desktops with a thump, the room briefly spinning out of focus.

Hermione came to herself a moment later, her feeling of profound embarrassment only slightly tempered by the realization that her plan for underestimation was going much better than expected. If _this_ story got around school, she'd be cement the already-forming image of a fragile creature who fainted at the slightest provocation. It could be a useful reputation to have. Fooling Pettigrew or not, though, if any of her friends could have known that she'd almost _fainted_ upon realizing all her notes were gone…. Well, Hermione was almost glad that everyone who knew her was a decade away.

It was surprisingly easy to assure McGonagall of her well-being, though the older woman did insist that she see Madam Pomfrey before lunch. Hermione knew that the Transfiguration Professor of her time would have demanded that she go to the Hospital Wing immediately, but perhaps the woman's duties as Acting Headmistress were keeping her busy- she had mentioned something about the upcoming centennial inspection by the board of governors, and that might keep her preoccupied. And for all _this_ McGonagall knew, Hermione was the kind of faint-hearted soul who collapsed at the slightest inconvenience.

Convincing Tonks was another matter, however. The two of them had Potions next- a class she was not looking forward to- and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Bill had told the girl about Madam Pomfrey's outburst.

"Are you certain you're all right?" she asked Hermione suspiciously as they walked down the large stone steps to the dungeons. It was the third such question in the last five minutes, and Hermione was getting annoyed.

"Yes, quite fine, thank you," the bushy-haired girl answered, letting some impatience show in her voice. "We should probably go a bit quicker, I wouldn't put it past Snape to take points off Gryffindor for being late, even with McGonagall's note." She didn't realize her mistake until she saw Tonk's perplexed expression.

The silence stretched between them- by now it would seem suspicious if Hermione broke it with an explanation. Well, Tonks could think what she liked. No doubt she would come up with a reasonable explanation for Hermione's behavior. And any reasonable explanation would be wrong, she thought smugly. Without inside information from the ministry, no one would be able to guess her secret.

Perhaps Luna Lovegood could, she thought sardonically. It was no crazier than anything else the Ravenclaw had come up with. But certainly nobody else- unless they were an accomplished Legilimens such as Dumbledore or Voldemort.

Or Snape, of course.

Oh.

Yeah.

With this unpleasant fact in mind, Hermione had a great deal of difficulty containing her uneasiness as she walked into the potions classroom. Hopefully, Snape wouldn't be paranoid or cruel enough to attempt a Legilimens probe on an unsuspecting student.

Her brain was silent for a few seconds.

It took a few moments to realize that she was waiting for Harry or Ron to pipe up with a really dumb reason why she shouldn't trust Snape. Like "He's a git." The she could argue that Dumbledore trusted Snape and thus quell that her inner fears that her Potions Professor was going to roast her alive.

Unfortunately, in the absence of Harry and Ron, her mind was coming up with really, really _good_ reasons why she shouldn't trust Snape.

Damn.

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks was not a nosy person by nature. Of course not.

But she did believe in well intentioned-meddling and… gathering of information, especially when someone clearly needed help. Hermione Granger clearly needed help. (Perhaps psychological help, she thought sardonically.)

Mentally reprimanding herself, she glanced at the girl beside her. She was a puzzle,that was for sure. The "very traumatizing ordeal" McGonagall had spoken of, Hermione's injuries, the strange knowledge she seemed to have of the castle-

_She hadn't asked for directions, _Tonks realized. _Not once._

The idea that Hermione Granger could be an adult under Polyjuice had been kicked around and tossed aside. She had definitely been in the castle before… but, Tonks reflected, she didn't have the self-confidence of an older person. Not in social matters, at least- although she was hardly self-effacing when it came to academics. (Rather bossy, in fact.) She'd also seemed very annoyed at the need to join a study group.

There was something odd about the girl, though. And McGonagall was in on it, she was certain. The older professor hadn't _once_ asked a prefect or an older student to help show her around. (Although perhaps she'd been hampered by the fact the only prefect Hermione's gender, year, and House was currently in the hospital wing with oily pus dripping out her ears.) The only times McGonagall had asked anyone to help Hermione was in taking luggage up to the Tower and in getting the girl copies of class notes.

Wait.

Why didn't Hermione Granger have her own notes? She'd clearly had a magical education, she should have had some remnant of her studies. Hermione Granger didn't seem to have many personal belongings at all, in fact- Tonks had seen her unpack her trunk.

There'd been some tattered schoolbooks, a few secondhand black robes, and some equally well-worn and comfortable-looking Muggle robes. And one (new!) copy of _Wards and Warnings: Dealing With Dangerous Artifacts _that Hermione had given a fond look at before reserving it a space on her bedside table. That really seemed to be the only object the girl regarded as _hers._

The only reason, Tonks realized as her stomach sank into a sickening plummet, that Hermione Granger would have _nothing_ of her past life would be if she, well, had nothing of her past life. Like her notes. Or her house. Or- well the girl had never said anything about her family. But she had given a few wistful looks at Caroline's enormous puff-ball of a cat. Very sad looks, those had been.

Tonks carefully meandered her mind around the depressing conclusion these thoughts led to in favor of solving the greater mystery surrounding the new girl's appearance. (There was one, she was sure.)

Now think. What _had_ she said about her home?

She'd said Tonks reminded her of an old friend.

She'd said she was a bit ahead in her classes- although today's Transfiguration lesson appeared to be new.

She'd seemed familiar with British Ministry's regulations.

She'd seemed familiar with Hogwarts.

She'd seemed familiar with _Tonks_, which should have been impossible.

But she hadn't been familiar with the O.W.L.S.- or not as much as she should be, McGonagall had suggested.

"In Britain," McGonagall had added hastily. But O.W.L.S. were an international standard- they didn't differ between countries. Sure, maybe the material would differ slightly once a decade, according to what was deemed "proper" to learn, but that was all.

Strange.

Nymphadora Tonks mentally abandoned The Mystery That Was Hermione Granger as she entered the Potions classroom. One had to keep one's wits about them when dealing with Professor Snape, (if you didn't fancy being left a gibbering, humiliated wreck when he caught you daydreaming.)

Nymphadora Tonks and Hermione Granger were the last to enter class- though they did so at least thirty seconds before start of the lesson- and the only empty cauldron was in the front of the classroom. Unfortunately for Tonks' mental health that day, Tonks had to mentally take up The Mystery That Was Hermione Granger not five seconds after her resolution to temporarily abandon it. Because Hermione seemed to think the best method to deal with Professor Snape was to _lose_ her wits. It seemed that way, at any rate.

The Granger girl didn't make eye contact with the Professor- not once. She spoke in a hoarse whisper throughout the class, saying only "Could you please pass the dried stonewort?" and "May I borrow the two-inch gold knife by your left?" When it came time to walk the group Potions up to Snape's desk for grading, she asked Tonks to do it.

Tonks was so distracted by this unexpected behavior, she almost knocked a jar of Stinksap powder into the mix (which Hermione promptly caught.)

Why the sudden fear of Snape? Hermione Granger was good at Potions- she'd stopped Tonks from making a few mistakes, and Tonks was no slouch herself. The two couldn't possibly have met before- well, it was highly unlikely. And even if they had, Hermione hadn't seemed afraid when she'd mentioned him in the hall.

Snape seemed just as confused as Tonks. As well as slightly… suspicious?

More strangeness.

* * *

Another Potions lesson like that and Hermione's cover would be blown for sure. She _had_ to learn Occlumency. She'd skated by with Snape today using what little Harry had told her about his lessons: no eye contact (which she'd tried to pass off as part of her "shy demeanor,") no opportunities for him to say the incantation, as little physical proximity as possible… but it wasn't more than a stop-gap measure, and she knew it.

Not for the first time, she wished McGonagall had allowed her access to the Restricted Section to look at Occlumency materials for Harry. She'd asked before, but her normally agreeable Professor had refused. Something about "letting Mr. Potter stand on his own." (A really dumb idea, in Hermione's opinion. What was it with authority figures and their penchant for letting schoolchildren "handle themselves" in battles against Dark Wizards?)

There wasn't a chance McGonagall would let her use the Restricted Section now, of course. There was no reputation as a "responsible, rules-conscious child" to fall back on here. Breaking into the library wouldn't work; Harry had tried that first year, almost getting caught despite his invisibility cloak. Which was a shame, because she could also do with some information on how to bypass Filch and retrieve the map. Access to the Restricted Section could have really come in handy.

A memory rose to the surface…. what was it that Ron had said, all those years ago? _"A teacher would have to be really thick to fall for that."_ Yes, it was a shame Lockhart wasn't here. She would have gotten the permission form from the vain fraud in a seco-

Fraud.

Maybe it was possible, after all.


	8. Chapter 7: Assembling

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Chapter 7:**Assembling **

"**Human felicity is produced not so much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen, as by little advantages that occur every day.** "**  
-Benjamin Franklin **

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A paper airplane made its way to Bill in Transfiguration class, scuttling under the door and zooming into his ankle as McGonagall turned to write on the blackboard. It read:

_Something's up with Hermione Granger. What do you know about her?_

Bill snorted and hastily shoved the charmed paper into his pocket. That was Tonks for you. Acting like everything was a top-secret Auror investigation.

When McGonagall turned her back on the class again, he tossed the crumpled ball into his backpack. It rolled around tipping inkbottles and the ragged covers of his secondhand textbooks to bump into a sleeping Scabbers.

* * *

* * *

There were other notes passed that day. The memo to all Hogwarts staff about the governor's meeting that evening, charmed copies made of McGonagall's rather tense handwriting. The official-looking letter informing Madam Pomfrey about a delay in shipment for some special-made potions.

The envelope-marked _To Remus Lupin, In the Event of My Death_ was also written that day.

But not, of course, passed. It lay nestled inside the (rather too-outdated) extra Transfiguration textbook, in the rather short section on Animagus transformations. A textbook that in turn was placed in the bottom of one Hermione Granger's school trunk.

Every endeavor needs a back-up plan.

But letters have a way of being read.

* * *

* * *

Smoky incense drifted down the silver stepladder.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste as she stared up at the circular trapdoor. It seemed only too ironic that she should have spent the last four days itching to talk to her most despised teacher. (Unless you counted all the ones who had actually tried to attack Harry instead of merely predicting his death.)

In between dodging a suspiciously inquisitive Tonks, reassuring Madam Pomfrey as to the state of her health, recopying five years' worth of class notes, dodging a suspiciously inquisitive Tonks, attempting to make casual conversation with Bill Weasley (mostly along the innocuous lines of "I had a cat at home. I miss it very much. Do you have any pets here at school?"), and… oh yeah, dodging a suspiciously inquisitive Tonks, it was amazing she'd found any free time to talk to Trelawney.

Free time which she was currently wasting as she stood under the trapdoor contemplating her busy schedule.

She hefted herself up into the Divination classroom with a wince, wishing she'd taken the potion earlier.

It hadn't changed much in the space of a decade. Some of the tablecloths were in slightly darker shades, and the curtain fringes weren't as frayed-looking as before… but the similarity to her own time was shocking. Much more apparent than in the other rooms of the castle. Hermione could almost believe she'd gone back to her third year at Hogwarts, that the biggest problems she'd have to deal with today would be a fraudulent teacher, a mass-murderer, and juggling all her electives without having a nervous breakdown.

Almost.

Trelawney was sitting- no _lounging_- on a particularly plush armchair, tipping the contents of a small bottle into her cup of tea. Large, insect-like eyes snapped up at Hermione's sudden appearance through the trapdoor.

"Your coming was foreseen, my dear," the witch began in her usual misty tones as she hastily corked the container and shoved it under a cushion, "though your timing is… less than advantageous."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the sherry- then hastily changed her expression to one that was (hopefully) more conciliatory. "Oh- I'm terribly sorry. You see, it a bit well… it's all a bit complicated, and I really didn't know who to turn to but I heard you were the _only_ person here with a chance at interpreting dreams so I… er… decided to see you," she finished (rather lamely, in her opinion.) She tried to look suitably nervous and awestruck.

"Of course, my dear, of course…" Trelawney's replied, the ghost of a smile on her as she preened the colorful array of gaudy beads about her neck. "Do sit down."

Hermione repressed a wince at her own dishonesty and sat down on one of the too-soft poufs. Life in this timeline seemed to require a surprisingly large amount of acting.

(And lying.)

It took the better part of half an hour to tell Trelawney about her "dream" and her iron-clad certainty that she needed to research mind-magic and explore the depths of her subconscious. "Because, after all, I can't simply intrude upon your privacy for every inexplicable dream I might have. As it is, I'm surprised a Seer as respected as you must be remains so accessible to the students of Hogwarts," Hermione finished.

That last sentence may have been laying it on a bit thick, but it seemed to work.

As Trelawney signed the slip that would grant her access into the Restricted Section and _all_ the shelves containing any references of Occlumency, Legimency, and other types of mind-altering magic (_Obliviate_ came to mind), Hermione allowed herself a small smirk.

Flattery really _could_ get you anywhere.

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* * *

Flattery couldn't get you _anywhere._

Not if you were Bill Weasley, at any rate.

The so-named boy had been trailing Madam Pince around the library for fifteen minutes without success, trying to gain access to the recent Daily Prophet articles. Every other Arithmancy student and their pet puffskin had been cheerfully shown the collection, but not he. Apparently the sin of Returning a Book One Day Late deserved a bigger punishment than the three detentions he'd been given. (Being denied access to any library materials for a month seemed to be what Pince considered "fair.") And she _wouldn't change her mind_. Asking didn't work. Pleading didn't work. Begging didn't work.

In an absolute last-ditch effort, he invoked the name of the Acting Headmistress.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

It did, however, get him kicked out of the library.

* * *

* * *

Hermione Granger was almost at the library doors when she spotted the thatch of red hair peeking out from one of the tiny alcoves in the hallway, squeezing in beside a plump, bald-headed statue of Hengist of Woodcroft.

"Hey," Bill Weasley half-whispered. "Do you think you could get me some recent articles on Arithmancy?" He furtively glanced to the library entrance (somewhat blocked by a scowling Madam Pince) before hurriedly backpedaling into the wall.

Hermione stifled the irrational urge to giggle.

"There's a Current Events and Developments essay due in Arithmancy tomorrow for homework, and Pince won't let me use the library because I didn't return a book on time. I promise it won't take too long to find, and you'd be doing me a really, really big favor. Please?"

His voice tapered off into a pleading whine at the end, and for a moment his face held the pseudo-desperation so often seen on Ron's. And really, if she refused to talk to everyone who'd ever made a disparaging comment about her hair, she'd probably have to take a vow of silence.

"Oh, all right." she said.

(His dramatic sigh of relief more resembled Harry's, though.)

"What do you have to research for Arithmancy?" Something was niggling at the corner of her mind- she hated when that happened. There was something important about Arithmancy equations, something she'd forgotten… Oh, the heck with it. It was probably a problem she'd wanted to research, or that she had to remember didn't exist yet or something equally trivial.

"Apparently there was some huge magical event a few weeks ago that changed the subject as we know it. 'Was in the Daily Prophet. Professor Vector says it's the opportunity of a lifetime and made a few pointed comments about how young people today would rather read Quidditch Today or Witch Weekly than educate themselves about the current state of the Wizarding world."

Hermione nodded distractedly.

That _did _sound like Professor Vector.

Bill, perhaps realizing his audience was somewhat preoccupied -what_ was_ she forgetting?- apparently decided a joke would be in order.

"Of course, we all really know that it's because now she has to re-teach the seventh years before they take their N.E.W.T.s. Half the equations required for the test have been proved wrong. I caught her mass-mailing the Ministry a flock of Howlers, demanding they reschedule the exam. I wouldn't put her past cornering the Board of Governors when they come and demanding they talk to the testing board."

Hermione did laugh, this time.

"Well, I can see why you don't want to get her mad at you for missing an assignment. I may be a little while- I have some stuff of my own to research- but I'll cast duplication charms on this month's issue of Arithmancy Weekly and the Daily Prophet articles of…." she trailed off.

"Two weeks ago," Bill finished, looking quite relieved. "What time'll you be done? I'd wait out here, but I don't fancy another detention in case Pince catches me."

"Hmm..." Hermione frowned. "I'll probably be in the library for about two hours, and then I'll have to stop by the Hospital Wing… how about I find you in the common room?"

"Great!" Bill's voice echoed through the hallway, catching the attention of Madam Pince once more. He quickly pulled his head back behind the statue.

Both were quiet for a few moments.

An uncomfortable expression stole across his face, "And… um, sorry for what I said about your hair. Tonks is a friend of mine, so I tease her a lot… I didn't really _mean_ that comment- if she'd worn ringlets and a tiara I'd have said she looked like… well, something bad. Yours is actually… well, pretty nice. So I really didn't mean it. And… yeah" He shuffled his feet a bit.

Well.

Not so much like Ron after all.

* * *

* * *

Hermione almost didn't make it to Madam Pomfrey's on time.

She'd gotten distracted from the section on Occlumency by the (dare-she imagine-larger?) section on Wizarding law, where she'd spent a happy few minutes browsing before selecting a book she _definitely_ hadn't seen before.

By Transfiguration, there was a rather battered copy of _Reversing Self-Transformations: Helping Your Friends Out of Their Idiotic Blunders When They're In No Shape To Do It. _(Pettigrew was certainly not a friend, but she had a feeling this was where Sirius and Professor Lupin had learned that spell they'd used in third year.)

And after picking up Bill's articles for Arithmancy, she ignored studies and Sirius-Related plans for a few minutes by the Enchanted Objects section.

She'd only remembered about Madam Pomfrey when -after cross-referencing for items that impeded transformations and other physical changes- she saw a sketch of rather painful-looking iron manacles that promised to "rein in your prisoner regardless of what size, shape, or gender they may turn." Apparently its use was discontinued after a thieving Metamorphagus tried to _grow _while chained in them. (The manacles, while able to shrink to almost miniscule size, hadn't been too keen to grow larger, and the poor man in question had burst most of the blood vessels in his arms. He'd insisted that, as a Metamorphagus, he could heal himself, and had died of lockjaw two days later while in Auror custody. Quite interesting reading.)

She was actually midway through an internal rant about the stupidity of people who refused to receive medical services for reasons of pride before she remembered about the potion she needed to take.

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Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Terribly sorry for this chapter's shortness, but that's partially becuase things are picking up the pace, plot-wise.

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	9. Chapter 8: Alarm

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews! This chapter marks a turning point, so hold on to your seatbelts, folks.**

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Chapter 8: Alarm

"**Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent." -Isaac Asimov**

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Nymphadora Tonks had a slightly guilty feeling in her stomach as she opened the door to the girl's dormitory.

After all, it wasn't as if Hermione Granger had seemed particularly sinister or untrustworthy. Certainly not enough so to justify this appalling invasion of privacy. (Oh dear Merlin, she sounded like her mum.)

But… something felt off.

Worse than off- dangerous.

Tonks could recognize the look of someone on a hit list, having seen it on her own parents' faces a time or two (or three, or four). She had been very young, but it wasn't something you forgot. The slightly pinched look around the mouth, the deepening of tiny lines by the corners of her eyes… a Metamorphagus notices these things.

Yes, there was something seriously worrying Hermione Granger.

And it was up to Nymphadora Tonks, Future Auror Extraordinaire, to discover what it was.

(Once she figured out how to unlock the wards on this thrice-damned trunk.)

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The expected chew-out from Madam Pomfrey never came.

Indeed, the harried-looking witch didn't notice her presence until Hermione was halfway to the potions shelf.

This perhaps had to do with Argus Filch's stream of drowsily muttered curses as he pushed aside the FlyAway Fever potion Pomfrey was trying to tip down his throat. (Or the fact that the mediwitch broke out in a violent sneezing fit whenever Mrs. Norris brushed by her.)

Madam Pomfrey cast a hurried glance her way as she shoved the still-protesting Filch further into his pillow. "Oh, Miss Granger, I'm afraid that-"

Filch broke out in a rather more alarming fit of delirious expletives, followed by a rather vitriolic monologue. "Thieving students- no right, no right- and if Peeves ransacks my office one more time I'm taking out the chains and thumbscrews, headmaster, he deserves it, the little-"

He was, thankfully, cut off as Madam Pomfrey poured the potion down his throat.

Hermione was rather forcibly reminded of Kreacher.

She pushed the almost-thoughts about the fruits of hatred and positions of inequality and Filch's instantaneous loyalty to Umbridge -who gave him what he wanted- aside for another day.

(A lingering guilt about her campaign for house-elf rights remained, but she would have to wait until after she got Sirius free to help them. Universal emancipation was a little ambitious for a two-week period, and without Harry and Ron to stop herself from getting an ulcer she had to be a bit more careful about taking on more than she could chew. Failure here could mean death, or something equally unpleasant.)

Funny.

She'd thought of Harry and Ron without feeling her eyes well up.

Perhaps things _were_ getting better. She'd probably have to get her mind on a different train of thought, however, if she wanted to keep her currently cheerful disposition.

"No need to bother getting them, I can do it," she smiled at the still-sneezing mediwitch, moving to the cupboard holding the green and purple potions (one to strengthen the still-delicate blood vessels and prevent any internal bleeding, another to help heal her still-tender lower intestine and help her digest food).

The green and purple potions that weren't there.

Rather annoying, that.

"I'm afraid that there's been delay in the potions shipment, Miss Granger. According to St. Mungo's staff, one of their apprentices accidentally let a Chizpurfle in their storeroom."

Hermione let out an involuntary groan at the thought. It certainly explained why Rosemary hadn't sent her any letters after that first one. Parasites that ate any magical item quickly multiplying in the rooms of St. Mungo's… well, no wonder the Head of the Artifact Accidents floor was busy.

"Professor Snape will have to make your potions, I'm afraid. As well as any others needed by the infirmary," Madam Pomfrey finished wryly.

Hermione was rather amused at the thought of the irascible Potions Master being bossed around by Madam Pomfrey, but couldn't help but wonder what this had to do with _her_. She didn't particularly care where her potions came from, as long as they weren't being brewed by an incompetent (which Snape definitely wasn't) or someone who wanted to kill her (which Snape almost certainly didn't.)

'So you'll have to stop by his office in a few hours to get it- I'm afraid that with a twelve hour brewing time, they won't be ready before seven or so. It might be a good idea to skip dinner, just to be on the safe side, but there's little danger of relapse unless you forgo the potions for more than three days or so."

Meeting with Snape.

Well, that should be pleasant.

Hermione thanked Madam Pomfrey for telling her, wished her luck with the delirious Filch, and headed toward the common room in a rather gloomy state of mind.

She was still injured, she had gotten absolutely _nowhere_ in finding Pettigrew, and tonight she had to skip dinner and test out her almost non-existent Occlumency skills against a bitter and vindictive man who was suspicious of almost everything. (She mentally apologized for the rather unflattering description, but still. At the rate she was going, Sirius wouldn't be free until she was thirty.)

If only she had the Marauder's Map, she might have a chance of catching Pettigrew on her own. But it wasn't like she could waltz right in and snitch the thing out of the filing cabinet, with the ever-vigilant Filch prowling ar-

The ever-vigilant Filch was currently in the hospital wing.

Huh.

That did put rather a different spin on things.

Hermione was rather preoccupied as she dropped off Bill Weasley's Arithmancy article by his armchair -along with the rest of her books- and headed rather vaguely out the portrait hole, a clear destination in mind. With the Marauder's Map, things would be so much easier…

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If Hermione hadn't been so inattentive, events might have gone differently.

She might have, for instance, noticed that the books she laid down -_Reversing Self-Transformations, Untangling the Legal System, Trial and Error: A History of the Falsely Accused, _and _Occlumency for Beginners_- were not exactly inconspicuous.

Or seen the unnatural curiosity of the rat poking at the corners of said books.

Or even stayed to witness Bill's soft whistle as he looked over his article (which detailed the arrival of an unnamed time-traveler and the Arithmetic theories upset by said event.)

But then again, no one else in the common room noticed anything amiss when Bill eventually left for Quidditch practice- and never showed up on the pitch.

No one saw the figure that took his wand from behind.

Even Bill only glimpsed a growing shadow, felt the sharp tug of wood sliding out of his palm, heard the whisper of a spell- before his world was consigned to oblivion.

So perhaps Hermione Granger was not entirely to blame.

It wasn't as if anyone else was paying attention that day.

(Except for Peter Pettigrew, of course.)

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Nymphadora Tonks, Future Auror Extraordinaire, was currently paying attention to the slightly painful bumps that had formed on her face the second she'd succeeded in blasting the trunk open.

In the borrowed mirror, it was easy to tell what the letters spelled out. THIEF was blazoned across her forehead in large, purple pustules.

It seemed to be quite an impressive hex, especially as Tonks had not yet managed to remove it through conventional methods.

Fortunately, Tonks thought to herself, she had never exactly been conventional.

After a bit of concentration, the words disappeared off her forehead entirely, and Tonks eagerly returned to the now-open trunk. Granger wouldn't have bothered to hex it if there was nothing important inside.

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Hermione Granger heard a slight scratching noise behind her as she opened the door to Filch's office, but she was sure it was only a suit of armor creaking.

Pretty sure, anyway.

She had nerves something awful, perhaps because she didn't have a goody-two-shoes reputation to fall back on if she got caught this time. And also because… well, breaking and entering was Wrong. And she didn't feel as bad as she should have about stealing from an authority figure. Granted, Filch was hardly that imposing a personality… but, in some ways, that made her lack of regret even worse. She should feel badly about taking advantage of his Squib status to further her own plans.

She didn't, though. She felt a bit of relief at the fact that he wasn't able to hex his doors. What kind of person was she turning into?

Hermione decided to focus on a rather more practical problem.

Such as which particular filing cabinet the map was in.

At first glance, it was hard to even determine which rusted heaps of metal _were _filing cabinets, covered as they were in half-polished manacles and displays of well-ordered thumbscrews. To make matters worse, the things were piled on top of one another almost indefinitely, completely indistinguishable from one another. All this was seen through the narrow beam of light coming from her wand, Filch having (presumably) extinguished the lights when he went to Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione had a few ironic thoughts about needles and haystacks before getting to work.

Well, setting her _brain_ to work. (Rifling through indiscriminately would be something Harry and Ron would do.)

Obviously, the drawer would have to be easily accessible by a first year- otherwise Fred and George would never have seen it, much less gotten hold of the map. That left out the cabinets in the very back and those above four and a half feet or so.

No, make it six. (Fred and George were _very_ resourceful.)

And they mentioned the labeling, so it must be still on (though she wished Harry had told her what it had _said_). That eliminated about three-quarters of the remaining cabinets.

Only twenty to go.

She could search twenty.

Might as well do it in something of an organized fashion, though. Say from… the desk outwards, starting from the side closest to the door.

Hermione located the map after about five minutes meticulous searching, on her second filing cabinet in. She'd hadn't expected it to be there, based on the label (why would Filch consider the map "highly dangerous?") but the thick, seemingly blank parchment was unmistakable.

She felt a swell of pride as she tapped it with her wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she whispered.

Dark ink spilled across the parchment, forming spidery lines and slow-moving dots labeled in cramped handwriting.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile before her eyes caught on one particular dot located not ten feet from the office she was currently burgling, and moving fast in her direction.

_Peter Pettigrew._

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The most warded item in the trunk was a small letter addressed in neat handwriting. Correction- the only item in the trunk _with any wards on it at all_ was a small letter addressed in neat handwriting.

Rather disappointing, that.

Or it was until Nymphadora Tonks read the actual address.

_To Remus Lupin, in the Event of My Death._

Then it was just creepy.

And more than slightly worrying.

Because Granger was either suicidal, had some sort of terminal illness, or had someone running around trying to kill her.

Possibly all three.

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Hermione Granger was expecting hear eardrums to throb in the aftermath of some sort of explosion.

She'd used the few seconds of preparation she had to duck behind one of the more stable-looking filing cabinets, extinguish her Lumos, and hurriedly cast a rather weak shield spell. (It wouldn't hold up to Unforgivables or any really substantial Dark Magic, though it withstand a respectable amount of the mid-level jinxes.)

She was therefore surprised not to hear anything more than a slight scratching noise as something (some_one_) slipped under the door.

"I was going to tail you, try to figure out how much you knew," a raspy voice spoke in the darkened room, "but that seems rather a moot point now, doesn't it?"

Hermione cursed her own stupidity.

Of course Pettigrew wouldn't have attacked her directly if he didn't know whether or not she knew anything. If she'd just continued with her little charade, he might never have known she was a threat. But the Great Hermione Granger couldn't stick to her own plan. Of course not.

And now she was stuck facing a dark wizard she could easily have avoided if she'd actually bothered use her _brains_, a dark wizard that was probably going to kill her.

But if what he really was after was information… well, she might have a slight advantage if he wanted her alive.

If, if, if.

Too many variables.

Oh God, what was she going to _do_?

All these thoughts passed through her brain in the five seconds it took for Pettigrew to seal the door closed behind him.

Hermione was shaking, her back pressed to the cold metal as she tried not to breathe too loudly.

She had one shot.

After that… well, maybe she wouldn't die. It was possible she could get a few hits in even if she missed the first time. It was possible he would _Obliviate_ her instead. A lot of things were possible.

It was _probable,_ however, that if she failed and Pettigrew escaped, the little rat would bring Voldemort back again.

She almost stated shaking again, but she couldn't afford the extra movement.

He was almost to her cabinet.

Just a little closer.

A little more.

_Now._

* * *

* * *

* * *

Nymphadora Tonk's hands were shaking as she finished reading the letter, though there were many, many parts she still didn't understand.

Surprisingly, the most shocking revelation was not that the girl she'd shared a dorm with was a time-traveler, or the vague hints concerning Voldemort's not-so-permanent demise.

Because her _cousin _was _innocent_, damn it, and no one had noticed.

Nobody had tried to help him.

And she was supposed to be _family_.

And she remembered how happy he'd been to see her, the few times he'd come to visit- the way he'd tweak her nose and ruffle her hair and call her his "favorite little cousin" while Mum looked onward. How he'd always been the cool older cousin who still remembered to write a note of congratulations for getting into Gryffindor.

How she'd punched her pillow every night before falling asleep in second year for being a fool to trust him but never, never doubted he was guilty.

Hah. Trust.

Tonks stood there for a long time, stewing in rage and anger. Mostly at herself.

But the sweat from her thumb was smearing the ink, and when she looked down she saw a name.

_Pettigrew._

And now she knew where he was.

Well, the hell with Granger's careful plans and stupid notes.

The hell with everything.

The cowardly traitor was going to pay for messing with her family.

She crumpled the letter into her jacket pocket and set off to find Bill.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 9: Allegations

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A/N: Wow. My sincere apologies to everybody for my appallingly long absence. And right at a cliffhanger, too. Eek. I now hove computer access, though, so updates should be a little more frequent. (Although, with college applications right around the corner, readers shouldn't expect any miracles.) Thank you all for the many lovely reviews that have really encouraged me, and greatly aided in the fight against Writer's Block. Here's the chapter you've been waiting so patiently for. 

**Chapter 10: Allegations **

**"You should never have your best trousers on when you go out to fight for freedom and truth." -Henrik Ibsen **

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Oh God, her head was throbbing.

Hermione opened her eyes with a silent groan, then bolted upright as she recognized her surroundings and realized where she was. Still in Filch's office. And not dead or Obliviated, either. She heaved herself upright and began looking around the mess of overturned filing cabinets.

Could the Stunner have hit Pettigrew? She didn't remember, and it occurred to her that her dismissal of memory modification might be faulty. But no, if that had been the case, she wouldn't have been remembering the encounter at all. It was probably due to head trauma.

So Pettigrew was most likely unconscious.

Or, Hermione realized as she leaned on the wall, lying in wait to finish her off.

* * *

To her surprise, it was the former.

Pettigrew was lying peacefully under a mess of paperwork, disappointingly bruise-free. Hermione Stunned him twice, and resisted the urge to give a well-placed kick. (Harry and Ron had rubbed off on her far too well.)

Then she stared dumbly at him for several seconds. A large part of her wanted to check for Polyjuice potion. It just seemed too- too _easy_. This was the slippery wizard who'd evaded Azkaban for fifteen years and fooled the entire Wizarding World for twelve of them? Granted, he was a coward, but a very dangerous one. Look at what he'd done in the name of fear. Betrayed his best friend to a madman. Framed the other for his murder. Brought _Voldemort_ back.

And now he'd been captured by a fifth year because he'd had the misfortune to be under the wrong piece of furniture.

Hermione realized, suddenly, that he didn't count as "captured" until he reached Ministry custody. To assume otherwise would be to make the same mistake as Remus and Sirius, back in third year.

She set her mouth in a grim line, and, ignoring the lancing pain in her head, began to slowly make her way to McGonagall's office. Pettigrew was levitated behind her, under the influence of the two Stunners and the strongest (and most obscure) binding spells she knew. (She was rather proud of the fact she could still perform them when standing unaided was giving her so much trouble.)

Looking behind her, Hermione realized she really had no idea how to explain this tableau should she encounter someone in the hallway.

She didn't particularly care.

* * *

His girlfriend of the day didn't know where he was. The Quidditch team didn't know where he was. The teachers didn't know where he was. And although nobody with any degree of authority particularly cared that the Metamorphagus had yet to find Bill, some of the other Gryffindors were getting worried.

"I haven't seen Bill, either," Charlie Weasley blurted as soon as she approached him. "I've been looking, too, and Gwendolyn told me you wanted to speak to him but I haven't seen him and-"

"Slow down, Charlie." Tonks frowned. "No one's seen Bill. That wasn't exactly what I was going to ask." She was silent for a moment. "It's a fourth-year spell, but- do you know what a Familial-based Tracking Charm is?"

Charlie bit his lip. "Mum used one for the twins two years ago, I think. Don't you have to have a really good reason to do it, though? She said that it should only be used if the other person was probably in danger. I mean, the twins are too young to look after themselves and they get into trouble all the time, but Hogwarts is supposed to be pretty safe. Bill could just be- somewhere. Is- I mean-"

"Bill _might_ be in danger." Tonks forced the words out. "He might not be. The only reason I started looking for him is because I- found out some rather disturbing information that- well, I wasn't really thinking about it in terms of Bill being in danger. But… do you know where Bill's rat is? Scabbers, was it?"

"Quentin said Bill was taking him to Quidditch practice. I remember, because he was giving me a hard time about having a rat for a family pet when I asked him if he'd seen Bill." Charlie looked at her curiously, and, upon seeing Tonks's expression, rather nervously.

"I think we'd better try that spell, Charlie." Tonks said quietly.

* * *

No, he didn't know who had attacked him. No, he didn't know where his wand was. No, he hadn't noticed anything unusual. No, he didn't know why he'd been trussed up and stuffed in a closet.

His brother's babbling wasn't helping his head pain. And he'd expected Tonks to be a bit more sympathetic at his plight, rather than asking sharp questions and growing progressively more grim-faced.

"Did you have Scabbers with you?" she asked absently.

Bill gave his friend a look. "Yes. I already answered that question. I do not think someone attacked me to get my rat, if that's what you're implying."

Tonks brightened. "I didn't consider that! Maybe she was just going to- oh, no, your wand was taken, so it must have been him."

The small crowd of Gryffindors (previously cheerfully discussing whether a small contingent of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team could be the culprits) stared at her in incomprehension. Bill managed a small "Whugh?"

"Did you discover anything unusual information today?" Tonks asked.

"I'm not going to be your training ground for those Auror interrogation techniques, Tonks. Will you just help me to Madam Pomfrey already?"

"I think there's a Death Eater in the castle! We never would have found you if I hadn't known you were in danger! For all we know, he's gone after someone else! Now you will answer my bloody questions, Bill Weasley, and you will answer them now."

The half-dozen students gathered around Bill went silent.

"I was doing Arithmancy. Reading about some time travel experiment thing. I talked to Granger for a bit. Nothing important that I can remember. But- there _can't_ be a Death-"

Tonks wasn't paying attention. "Has anyone seen Hermione Granger in the last three hours? Or talked to someone who has?"

Heads shook.

Charlie Weasley, slightly scared of this new, slightly unbalanced-looking Tonks, raised his hand timidly. "Should- should I get McGonagall?"

She nodded.

"Um, if there's a Death eater in the castle, can someone come with me?"

Tonks nodded again.

"And- er- what should I tell her?"

Tonks frowned. "Tell her there's a Death Eater in the castle and Bill's been attacked and I think someone had better find Hermione Granger before she gets herself killed."

* * *

Hermione Granger did run into someone. Several people, in fact. Professor McGonagall and the eight sheepish Gryffindors before her all looked over at what must have been quite a sight.

Hermione was vaguely aware that her face was probably a mess and her hair was covered in dust and blood. And that Professor McGonagall was awaiting an explanation. Her mouth- strangely dry- worked soundlessly, and she couldn't seem to manage more than a small strangled sound in her throat. The room spun dizzily.

All of her righteous anger and determination seemed to have disappeared. (She wished she could disappear.)

They were still staring.

"Is that him?" Tonks asked, sounding a bit unsure whether she should be angry or apprehensive.

Hermione blinked tiredly. Him who? How was she supposed to answer that question? She couldn't even look at Tonks face properly to see what she meant because there were all these black dots obscuring her vision. Stupid dots. Stupid vision.

She repressed an insane desire to giggle, though not without a struggle. There was something important she had to tell McGonagall. Something important…

"He's not dead," she mumbled. She was vaguely aware that she probably had a concussion. She didn't want to have a concussion. Concussed people had to stay awake, and she really, really wanted a nap right now. The nice warm stone looked so soft and inviting, and there were all these people to take care of the Pettigrew business.

Luckily, a somewhat more coherent portion of her brain had the presence of mind to give one other piece of information before she passed out. "Really evil, though," she managed.

* * *

After a couple of shocked gasps at Hermione's not-so-sudden collapse and an examination of her head, Professor McGonagall asked what Tonks had meant by "him."

"I- well, it's only a theory, but I thought he might possibly be- er- Peter Pettigrew." The Metamorphagus mumbled the last words, but McGonagall's ears, sharp from decades of teaching, caught the name.

"Impossible," she managed. "Mr. Pettigrew was blasted to smithereens by-"

The memory of Hermione's words hung heavily in the air.

The teacher visibly composed herself as she walked over to examine the man, although she was growing increasingly paler shades of white. There were several more seconds of uncomfortable silence.

McGonagall performed several diagnostic spells in quick succession, and then picked up the extra wand lying out of Hermione's pocket. (The girl was now comfortably lying on a conjured stretcher.) When McGonagall finally spoke, her voice was quite composed. "Besides Miss Granger, how many students think they have some sort of idea what's going on?" Tonks slowly raised her hand. "Mr. Weasley, you were the person attacked?"

"No," said Charlie.

"Yes," said Bill.

"Is this your wand?" Bill nodded rather nervously. "In light of the present situation, I think it advisable that I accompany Mr. Pettigrew over to the Ministry. Several students may have to act as witnesses, and I think it best if I take you two. And possibly Miss Granger, if Madam Pomfrey thinks it advisable to revive her. The rest of you will head to your common rooms and-" here she sighed, "-_try_ to exercise some discretion. This is a serious matter, and I expect your full co-operation."

"Could I come with Bill?" Charlie Weasley asked. "Please? I know stuff, too."

McGonagall's lips tightened. "Very well. But I expect as coherent an explanation as possible from all three of you in my office while Miss Granger is in the hospital wing."

* * *

The explanations were not very coherent.

Bill, the victim and the sole conscious eyewitness of any attacking, hadn't actually seen anything. He didn't even know for sure if Pettigrew had attacked him.

Charlie knew that Tonks had been worried about Bill almost before he went missing, and had been strangely focused on his rat, Scabbers, who still hadn't been found. This was actually surprisingly useful information to McGonagall (now accompanied by Flitwick, Sinsitra, and Snape) as Tonks wasn't presently saying anything. (And any pleasure at Mr. Weasley's willingness to spill was mitigated by the fact that, upon being offered a biscuit, he had stuffed half the tin into his pockets.)

Tonks, who probably knew the most information, kept insisting that they wake up Hermione Granger. What little McGonagall managed to extract from Tonks was mostly a confused jumble about letters and rats. Her questions, however, were quite telling. Questions about Sirius Black. Questions about whether they should be contacting someone beside the Ministry. And, when Madam Pomfrey sent over the message that her patient was only suffering a mild concussion and would be awake in perhaps five minutes, questions about Hermione Granger's safety.

"Well, do you have any suggestions?" McGonagall asked rather sharply, having lost most of her patience some time ago. (Possibly when the last of the ginger biscuits had disappeared.)

Tonks went quiet then, and asked if it would be possible to speak to McGonagall alone, and on the condition that her Head of House tell absolutely no one. The professor agreed, wondering why this hadn't happened twenty minutes ago.

A small scrap torn off a letter was produced, and then quickly read.

Then quickly burned.

Miss Tonks was then informed that this was dangerous information and she should never have snooped and it would be advisable to burn the rest of letter if she hadn't already done so, as it could easily fall into the wrong hands. Furthermore, discovery that there was anyone who even possessed such future knowledge would most certainly put both Miss Tonks _and_ Miss Granger in considerable danger.

McGonagall watched as Tonks burned the rest of the letter –which the girl confessed she _had_ skimmed previously- without looking at it. She sent her student back into the office, and took a moment in the hallway to compose herself.

Sirius Black was innocent.

She remembered the trial he never had, and the objections she never voiced. Had not, at the time, held. She remembered the laughing, slightly arrogant boy who'd excelled in her classes.

She thought of the dementors and shuddered.

Whether Miss Granger was awake or not, it was past time to contact the Ministry.

And Minerva McGonagall, Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, walked over to her fireplace to make a Floo call. "Alastor Moody's office," she commanded.

* * *


	11. Chapter 10:Authentication

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Chapter 11: Authentication 

"**To no man will we sell, or deny, or delay, right of justice." -****Magna Carta, clause 40**

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* * *

There were letters, too.

Letters to any and all Order members involved in Magical Law Enforcement, the Auror Division, or the Wizengamot that contained spell-copied reams of parchment, hurriedly explaining the situation. Marked with an ornate phoenix seal that had not been used since the attack on the Longbottoms.

Formal, sparse, only slightly accusatory letters addressed directly to the Ministry of Magic.

A hurried note to Dumbledore attached to the red-and-gold feather of Fawks that had been left in her possession. ("Only for emergencies," he'd said with a twinkle.)

A very, very, difficult letter addressed to Remus Lupin.

In all the commotion, however, not a single word was written to the parents and guardians of the students involved. It was not a deliberate omission on the teachers' part, and the students themselves were not eager to bring the subject up. Neither Tonks nor the two Weasleys were sure if they would be receiving reprimands or rewards for their actions, and Hermione –even when conscious- had long been in the habit of concealing the more dangerous aspects of her school life.)

* * *

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* * *

At first, she didn't know why she was so uncomfortable. In the hazy stage before full consciousness, Hermione was aware that she was surrounded by soft sheets and warm light, and gently worried figures bustling around her. She hazily remembered been fed a syrupy, sweet-tasting sort of potion, but there hadn't seemed to be any particular urgency in the action. So she wasn't sure why there was such an uncomfortable prickling feeling on the back of her neck.

That is, not until she summoned the strength to open her eyes and was greeted with the not-so-pleasant sight of Professor Snape's black-eyed stare.

"Hello, Professor," she managed weakly. He did not look impressed.

"Drink this now," Snape ordered, shoving two potions toward her. He didn't even wait for her to finish swallowing them before he started questioning her. "Were you aware of the fact that Peter Pettigrew was alive and hiding in Hogwarts?" His voice sounded, if possible, more silkily dangerous that ever before. (And she'd spent five years in class with Harry and Neville.)

Hermione just stared at him blankly. Technically, she could say "No," as she hadn't been completely certain Pettigrew was hiding in Hogwarts. But Snape was a Legilimens, and she didn't seem to have the energy to lie. So she just stared back tiredly into his black eyes.

A mistake, as it turned out. The room seemed to spin away again, but Hermione, now well acquainted with the experience of passing out, knew this was not the result of her previous injuries.

* * *

_

* * *

* * *

The stench of sweat and old socks and the pungent odor of the scrapings found in the bottom of a dumpster overpowered the taste of salty tears and the whiff of cleaning solution._

_The troll was so big. She hadn't really understood how high twelve feet could be when she'd read about them in the books, and she'd left her wand in the dormitory and she was going to die here in this bathroom and no one was going to miss her… _

_  
No memory of sight now, just the echo of a high-pitched, crazed voice._

"_You need more persuasion?" A pregnant pause. "Very well- take the smallest one. Let him watch while we torture the little girl." Greedy anticipation laced the woman's hoarse vioce. "I'll do it."_

_A small, cheap, plastic-ringed mirror and a soft whisper that sent chills down her neck. _

"_Goodbye, Mudbloods." (It didn't sound like a normal voice, what with the strange hissing overtones. But was definitely younger than her own, and that frightened her more.)_

_Two great, bulbous yellow ey-_

* * *

* * *

The presence left her mind then. "You- you- "Hermione gasped in outrage against Professor Snape, stunned speechless by shock and anger. While intellectually, she saw the sense behind Legilimizing someone with such potentially dangerous information, she was still furious "How _dare_ you!"

… But something was wrong.

There were large beads of sweat forming on Snape's forehead (she didn't have to call him Professor in her head, especially not as he'd just invaded it.) He was also taking a lot of short, shallow gasps, and his eyes were closed.

Hermione looked in horror at his hands, which were starting to cover with a dark flaky substance she recognized as stone.

He'd seen the _basilisk. _The memory of the reflection of its eyes still seemed to hold some degree of power, especially against someone who'd never ingested mandrake juice.

A panicked call to Madam Pomfrey seemed in order.

Snape recovered quickly, however. The Mediwitch had only gotten the chance to force-feed him a few spoonfuls of a thick, tar-like substance before he coughed and opened his eyes. And only seconds later, the stone flakes, like a peculiar kind of grey dandruff, fell off his head and hands.

"A variant of Dropwort's Detachment Detoxin," Pomfrey muttered. "He's lucky I heard him do the spell. Doubly so that we had this potion on handy." She sniffed disapprovingly.

Hermione blinked. "Er- you have an antidote specifically ready for- this kind of encounter?"

Madam Pomfrey shushed her and pushed her back onto the pillows, but answered the question nevertheless. "Memories are dangerous to meddle with. Ever wonder why Obliviators need all that extra training after Hogwarts? Even a Muggle's memory can be dangerous to an unwary wizard, particularly if the Muggle in question has undergone some traumatic event. Wizards minds are particularly dangerous with all the magic milling about."

"So… wizard's memories are inherently magical, then. Different from Muggles?" Hermione asked Pomfrey, shocked out of her concern for the Potions Professor.

Professor Snape snorted from the bed next to her, the first intentional sound he'd made since her foray into his mind. "Of course they're different from Muggles, girl- have you never heard of a Pensive? Do you really suppose a non-magical memory could completely duplicate the surroundings and events of day decades in a person's past?"

Hermione should have been pleased Professor Snape was conscious. As it was, she felt annoyed at the slight to the intelligence of Muggles. "There are some cases-" she started hotly.

Snape waved his hand. "As with wizards, it varies. Most of our kind do need some magical assistance for total recall, but as a whole, memory is both more accurate and more vivid."

At this point, Hermione felt it wise to bite her tongue. Saying what she thought would likely make Madam Pomfrey question whether she had a motive for attacking Professor Snape, and she had enough trouble without being falsely accused of assaulting her professors. (Although, considering that she had knowingly attacked the man twice before without any repercussions, she supposed being punished when she hadn't actually done anything would serve some kind of karmic justice.)

By about ten minutes later, Snape was fully recovered. Hermione was most surprised not to be blamed for his condition, even if it had been temporary. The dazed Professor had been given a sharp tongue-lashing for venturing into the memories of one of his students- a more dangerous business than the books in the Restricted Section had intimated, and dubiously ethical besides. And he'd seemed to realize that the selection of the "basilisk eyes memory" had not been intentional on his student's part.

(Not that Snape was being _nice _to her, but as his face was not twisted by a fit of apoplectic rage, Hermione felt it safe to assume he didn't think she'd meant to attack him. He also seemed a bit, well, not quite _embarrassed_ at the outcome- she couldn't imagine Snape ever being embarrassed- but nevertheless keen to forget the whole business. Hermione was more than happy to go along with that.)

Apart from the fact that he'd seen some unfortunate memories and now kept sneaking her considering glances, Hermione didn't seem to have anything else to worry about. (Not that that was much of a consolation, as Hermione had no idea whether or not he could recognize Bellatrix Lestrange's distinctive voice. She hoped McGonagall hadn't told him she was from the future.)

She was rather cheered up by the realization that she didn't have to learn Occlumency if she remembered to think about Basilisk eyes every time someone questioned her. A useful skill, that.

There wasn't much time for contemplation afterwards, though, as Madam Pomfrey quickly took her through the Floo network to the Ministry's Auror Headquarters. The trial would be held as quickly as possible, and the teenage girl was needed for her testimony, mild concussion or not.

And, although she didn't know it, Alastor Moody wanted to ask her what the hell kind of fifth year could adapt a twelfth-century binding spell with personal recognition charms.

* * *

* * *

It was night, now, although the view from the enchanted windows had not changed from the dusty pink hallmark of sunset. Then again, perhaps those in Magical Maintenance appreciated that many people at the Ministry were going to have quite the long night tonight.

Hermione couldn't help but repress a shudder as she stepped out of the lift and saw the distant black door that marked the entrance into the Department of Mysteries. Tonks saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, but didn't comment as Professor McGonagall had hustled them quickly down the stairs towards Courtroom Ten. The bushy-haired girl had been quite incensed when she'd been told of her now-opened letter, and Tonks doubted Hermione would be feeling well-disposed towards anyone at the moment.

She had certainly been curt when they were being interviewed by that grey-haired Auror- Dawlish, was it?- although she'd seemed to get along with Moody just fine. That was rather strange, actually, because he had been suspicious of the girl to the point of paranoia.

Still, in both cases she had taken an agonizingly long time to answer even the most simple of questions, even after it became apparent that both Aurors (and Tonks and McGonagall, who were both present) knew of her time-traveling status. Professor McGonagall had seemed to approve of her caution, however.

(In fact, the Transfiguration Professor seemed to be going to some length to ensure that both girls stayed within her line of sight, a fact that slightly worried Tonks. McGonagall had had no problem with releasing Bill and Charlie into Arthur Weasley's care, but she'd been in danger of breaking the sound barrier when Tonks had tried to go to the bathroom alone. The again, maybe McGonagall just didn't want to deal with another parent confrontation, considering she was already having to answer difficult questions about why there had been a mass-murderer hiding in the school for several years. Tonks hoped that was it.)

"Miss Granger, Miss Tonks," the Professor said as the approached the small knot of heatedly muttering people entering the courtroom, "I have some things I want to straighten out with you before you both testify." Tonks looked up, curiously. The older witch seemed to have difficulty speaking.

"While on the stand, you will not, of course, be able to lie undetected- making it vital for the both of you to refrain from even the smallest of embellishments, lest you damage your own testimony." (Tonks rather resented the sharp glance thrown her way.) "However," here the older witch took a breath, "I would advise you not to mention any… _previous_ knowledge or suspicions you might have had of Peter Pettigrew's guilt." Hermione nodded as though this was expected, but Tonks furrowed her brow.

"Isn't that the point of our testimony?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "The point of your testimony is to show that Mr. Pettigrew made an unprovoked attack on schoolchildren. In addition to his crime of being an illegal animagus and faked demise, that will throw enough doubt on his character that the Wizengamot will be able to justify using Veritaserum, an act which will almost certainly result in the freedom of Mr. Black."

"Seems like it would have been easier just to administer it to Sirius before and have done with it," muttered Tonks.

"It can be fooled by a pre-prepared antidote, as well as some other, rarer, measures. And many of the ingredients are too potent for some wizards- if someone with an undiagnosed allergy were to ingest it, Azkaban would be the least of their worries."

"But back to my point. Use is almost always illegal on minors, so the Wizengamot will be more likely to disbelieve a more… incredible story, even if it does pass the lie detectors, because they can be fooled even more easily than Veritaserum. Only a handful of Aurors and Department of Mysteries personnel know of Miss Granger's status. Mentioning any "future knowledge" is likely to cause the testimony to be dismissed."

"And the prospect of such knowledge existing might frighten some wizards enough to push them into doing something… unwise," Hermione finished for her quietly.

"Quite," replied McGonagall, and a little shiver went through Tonks as she realized some of the implications of that statement. Because she'd read that letter, some of those "unwise" actions might now be directed at her as well, if anyone realized what she knew. No wonder McGonagall had been so worried.

"Will Sirius be testifying today?" she asked instead, because Granger was giving her a pitying look.

The Professor blinked. "Almost certainly, although I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to talk- the defendant is normally enchanted so that they don't notice or recognize anyone but the members of the Wizengamot to prevent collusion or reprisals against witnesses, and I have no doubt he will be held in custody of the Dementors prior to the trial." McGonagall's voice held a note of repressed anger, and Tonks had difficulty restraining the urge to yell at the unfairness of it all.

Hermione Granger's face became eerily blank, her eyes standing out like jagged shards of ice.

"In Azkaban?"

"No," McGonagall sighed, "Most likely a private holding cell in the Ministry. A slight improvement, to be sure, but it should all be over in a few hours. We were lucky the Ministry decided on an emergency convention of the Wizengamot, as it was. Usually it would take at least a few days to gather together the members, even for the speediest of trials- such as this one."

"Do you think it's a record?" Tonks asked dully.

"Only four years?" Hermione said quietly, deliberately misinterpreting. "No. He's getting one, at least."

This did not reassure Tonks a great deal. After four years in Azkaban, how was she to know if her cousin was even sane? The question plagued her even as she watched groups of harried-looking witches and wizards enter the courtroom for the trial.

* * *

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* * *

Remus Lupin had rarely, if ever, received mail the day after the full moon.

Visitors, occasionally. (Usually his mother came in early to patch him up and drag him to bed, though in times past James and Si- some of his other friends had come over, concerned faces gathering around and fussing and making rude jokes to cheer him up. Gone now, of course.)

But everyone who knew of his condition usually avoided mailing him when they knew it was an effort to even feed himself. Those in the Order especially.

His eyes focused on the red-and-gold phoenix seal with dread. He hadn't received a letter like that since… shit. Still in bed, he managed to sit up long enough to direct the owl over to the water bowl he'd been planning to use to clean some of the more persistently bleeding cuts.

But he needed to concentrate, despite the exhaustion that riddled his mind. (Things must be desperate if they were contacting _him_, one of the more cynical parts of his brain remarked.)

It took him about half a minute to actually read the letter. Then he stared at it in sheer disbelief for another eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds, until it occurred to him that this was all an elaborate hallucination. (It wasn't uncommon, in the aftermath of a full moon. The Christmas after James and Lily had died, he'd spent three hours constantly turning his head an effort to catch sight of the stag that kept appearing in the corner of his vision.) This was just another fantasy of his beleaguered mind.

He managed to drag himself to the bathroom and splash some water on his face, in an effort to bring his mind back to more coherent thought and prevent his mother from commenting on his rather bloody face, should she come again today.

On the way back to bed, the hallucination-owl bit him and another letter came in from Alastor Moody.

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	12. Chapter 11: Argument

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Chapter 12: **Argument**

**"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." –Eleanor Roosevelt**

* * *

There was quite a crowd of witnesses waiting to testify.

Cornelius Fudge of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes sat stiffly on a bench outside the courtroom, with a good foot of distance between him and a tired-looking Bill Weasley. Charlie spent his time wandering up and down the hallway, asking impertinent questions of the various wizards gathered as he munched on the saved ginger biscuits. He was watched carefully by a harried-looking Arthur Weasley, who was also trying to convince Perkins to take on the task of informing Molly Weasley that her two oldest children had somehow managed to become witnesses in the trial of a suspected mass-murderer.

Nymphadora Tonks was also watching the crowd, hoping against hope nobody had thought to inform _her_ parents of the current circumstances. With such a mass of people, it was entirely possible she might be seen by an old family friend. She nudged Hermione, sitting next to her, and muttered, "They're not doing a great job of " preventing collusion" during the trial if they're going to stuff us all in the same hallway for five hours."

Hermione snorted involuntarily, then looked abashed when they both got a stern look from McGonagall, who was sitting on her self-conjured chair a few inches away. (Most of the other wizards were standing in the hall, having come too late to obtain a bench and lacking the knowledge to conjure an object for such an extended period of time.)

There seemed to be more curious eavesdroppers than actual witnesses, however. One could tell the difference between the two by the cream colored parchment –marked with the ministry seal- held by about a fourth of the excitedly conversing crowd. Suddenly, there seemed to be a bit of a commotion. A slowly widening space, starting from the far steps, where everyone seemed curiously reluctant to enter.

Arthur Weasley rushed to pull a curious Charlie out of the way, and Perkins hastily agreed to Floo Molly, grateful for the excuse to exit the hall. Fudge stiffened further –if possible- and frowned deeply. Most of the crowd was muttering and grouping together, and Tonks and Hermione both strained their necks to see what was happening.

They saw Alastor Moody stroll over from the other side of the hall, not-so-accidentally elbow a few of the more fervently muttering people out of his way, and support a half-dead looking young man as he dragged him over to the bench by McGonagall. Tonks examined him curiously. The mysterious stranger didn't seem to have a wand, and a rather large badge with a red W and the words "ISSUED BY THE MINISTRY" was affixed to the front of his robes. He seemed to be trying rather hard to ignore it. (Tonks couldn't blame him. Last year's Defense teacher had told her that werewolves and vampires needed to wear identification in the ministry, but she hadn't ever considered what that might mean. Well, he didn't seem dangerous. Actually, he looked a bit familiar...)

"Remus!" Hermione gasped from beside her. "You look terrible- here, take my seat." The Remus fellow (from the letter?) looked like he wanted to shrink into the wall, and shook his head mutely, eyes warily taking in the crowd around him. A mistake, in Tonks's opinion. Dealing with Hermione Granger required all of one's attention.

She was proved right when the girl in question stood up, grabbed the man by the hand, and gently but firmly shoved him into the bench spot where she'd been previously sitting. Hermione looked down at him, hands on her hips. "None of this chivalry business. You need a good rest, and me being a girl is no reason to refuse a seat."

McGonagall's mouth twitched, and even Alastor Moody broke his warning glare at the nearby populace to give Hermione a bemused look. Remus seemed marginally less like a frightened animal about to flee. From the familiar tone, Tonks rather guessed it _was_ the Remus from her classmate's letter. Well, if Hermione trusted him with her life, he couldn't be too bad. Perhaps it was time to introduce herself.

"Wotcher, I'm Tonks," she said, holding her hand out to shake. There was a hiss from a middle-aged wizard a few feet away, who quickly retreated under the onslaught of Moody's gaze. She rolled her eyes. The surrounding crowd was really getting on her nerves. Remus smiled sadly, and took her hand to shake it.

Several people gasped.

"What's the matter?" Tonks asked furiously as she turned around. "Someone tried to pull those sticks out of your a-"

"Miss Tonks!" McGonagall gasped. Tonks winced and slouched down. She'd forgotten McGonagall was there. Swearing in class lost you fifteen points. Swearing in front of several ministry representatives, while in Hogwarts uniform, was probably worth fifty points and a month of detention. "Half a point from Gryffindor," McGonagall finished. Tonks blinked. Half a point?

Hermione snickered, and Remus relaxed a bit.

Moody continued to send threatening glares, and they all waited for the trial to begin.

* * *

* * *

"Could you repeat that, please?" Sirius asked after he'd finished coughing.

Azkaban air wasn't exactly conducive to one's health, but he hadn't expected the pneumonia or whatever to start inducing hallucinations yet.

"We are going to escort you to the Ministry and if you try any funny business I will personally blow your head off," snarled the grey-haired Auror for the second time.

"I- I think he meant the part about the _trial_," whispered his freckled protégé.

The older Auror (Sirius decided to dub him Grey-haired) frowned and slowly bit out, "You have to testify for a trial at the Ministry. We are authorized to force that testimony from you, if necessary. If you cooperate with us, it may not become necessary, and you might get to return here in one piece."

Despite the flinch at the words "return here," Sirius Black felt the first faint stirrings of hope. "I'm to have a trial?"

"No," said Grey-haired sharply, obviously enjoying the effect it had on the prisoner. "Just testifying for one of your buddies." (Sirius contemplated changing Grey-haired's nickname to something rather less flattering.)

"I'm not a Death Eater," he replied. Old Sadist laughed. "I'm not! Ask me under Veritaserum if you like, but I'm not a Death Eater! I'm_ innocent_!" Sirius had the presence of mind to cut himself off before he stated sounding hysterical. Perhaps at the Ministry, someone would listen to him…

"Course you're innocent," Old Sadist chuckled again. He turned to his disapproving-looking younger partner. "That's what everyone says."

Sirius didn't fight against the Auror's rough handling as he was dragged from the cell, not that he could have done more than inconvenience the big man. As he was restrained –with rather more bruising than was actually necessary, he noted- he happened to catch the eye of the younger, freckled Auror.

"Do you think that's what Pettigrew will say, sir?" Freckles asked innocently, giving Sirius a meaningful look. It passed completely over Old Sadist's head.

"Most probably," Old Sadist muttered.

Sirius didn't even remember to close his mouth as the latter dragged him through the Floo Connection, getting a lungful of ash as a result.

* * *

* * *

Courtroom Ten had finally opened.

A full convocation of the Wizengamot would have reached sixty members easily. Luckily for the tired witnesses, reporters, and Aurors who'd been hastily called to the building and then forced to wait in a crowded hallway for several hours, the trial could still proceed with only two-thirds of the Wizengamot present, so long as all the members were notified of said trial's existence before the fact.

The forty-one Wizengamot members had been counted, the Acting Chief warlock of the Wizengamot had been introduced, and the anxious crowd outside was allowed to shuffle into the courtroom, though the trial itself would not start for another fifteen minutes.

The first thing Hermione noticed was that the place looked more like a dungeon from the Middle Ages than any kind of courtroom she'd ever seen. It didn't really seem very comfortable or professional. Possibly the designer had been one of those morbid dramatic types who'd likely gone mad a few weeks after the room's construction.

The thought crossed her mind that, if Luna had been here, she'd probably tell the Wizengamot to redecorate in purple and yellow in order to deter Wrackspurts or some such thing, citing the importance of preserving a just court system free from interference.

A part of her was unpleasantly aware that, at the moment, she'd give a sack full of galleons for a conversation with any of her old friends, no matter how bizarre it was.

Another part of her was even more unpleasantly aware that her inner Luna had a point. (About the need for redecorating, not the Wrackspurt things.) The dungeonlike settings of the courtroom probably predisposed wizards to assume that the suspect before them was guilty. And the heavy looking chair in the center of room –was it _really_ covered in _chains_?- couldn't help any.

She sat on a sturdy-looking bench next to Remus, not far from the chair in question. Tonks was on her other side, McGonagall next to her foster-brother. Mad-Eye Moody took his place in the section reserved for the Wizengamot members, and Bill and Charlie detached from their father to sit behind McGonagall. (Charlie caught her eye and made faces behind his professor's back, and Hermione giggled despite herself.)

Remus heard the noise and turned to look at her.

"I can't believe it's taken me so long to ask," he said, "but what are you even doing here?"

Hermione's giggling quickly stopped. She avoided her companion's gaze and muttered a sentence that may or may not have contained the word 'testify." The air was very, very tense.

* * *

* * *

Remus frowned and turned to McGonagall. "She was the student who caught Mr. Pettigrew," the older witch muttered tersely as she tried to determine the political makeup of the members presiding over the trial.

It took a minute or two for the shock to settle over Remus' face. Hermione didn't see it, because she was steadfastly ignoring his gaze.

When he spoke, his voice was strangled. "Did you know?"

Hermione, continuing her detailed examination of her own shoes, didn't answer.

"Did you know that Sirius was innocent and didn't tell me? Didn't tell anyone?" His hoarse voice contained more than a note of accusation.

Hermione flinched, but looked up at Remus' face with fire in her eyes.

"Tell who, exactly?" she whispered fiercely. "Dumbledore was off gallivanting in Albania, and you would likely have tried to go after Pettigrew yourself and been blasted into bits. Rosemary took me in when no one else would and somehow I didn't think getting her only son killed would have been an appropriate repayment!"

"You could have told _someone_," he whispered back angrily.

"And who would have believed me, or been able to help? No one here know me, certainly no one has any reason to trust what I tell them." She saw Remus stating to speak again and cut him off. "Even if you or Rosemary _had_ believed me, Pettigrew was paranoid enough to see a crippled little girl as a threat. If anyone with the last name Lupin had started hanging around, the absolute best case scenario would have been that he'd run for it and never be seen again, and then I'd have to break Sirius out illegally."

Remus blinked, seemingly stunned out of his momentary anger. "_What_?"

Hermione shifted a bit, and lowered her voice even more. "Well, that was plan B, obviously. I normally don't like breaking the law, so I try to follow the rules when-"

"_Normally!"_ The words were whispered, but it was quite clear from the tone that Remus had only barely managed not to shout.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, normally. Stop overreacting, I'm not a criminal."

Remus couldn't respond to this, because just then the Official Court scribe announced that the trial had started.

* * *

* * *

* * *


	13. Chapter 12: Achievement

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* * *

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Chapter 13: Achievement

"**Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks are born with their trauma. They've already past it. They're aristocrats."-Diane Arbus**

* * *

The trial had, thus far, gone very, very well. It had been a bit disconcerting to see first-hand the enchantments on the courtroom that rendered the audience invisible to those testifying, but the Wizengamot members, at least, were clearly in evidence.

Hermione had almost wished they weren't - their facial expressions alone had been quite distracting during her own testimony. Still, it had been heartening to notice them gasping in all the right places as "the children" told of their "terrifying ordeal."

McGonagall had so termed the situation when she was called to the stand, and, though a bit overly dramatic, the phrase seemed to stick. Hermione was of two minds about this. One one hand, Pettigrew was now certain to be convicted of _something_. On the other, Remus (apparently forgiving her secrecy) had given her a careful pat on the back and reassured her that counselling would be available to help her work through the trauma of the incident.

(He hadn't seemed to be joking.)

Hermione blamed Tonks, as she doubted so many of the Wizengamot members would have taken her own clinical synopsis of events as "an obvious case of shock" if it hadn't been for the Metamorphagus' now waif-like stature and watery blue eyes.

Tonks seemed to have a sixth sense for keeping a crowd on the edge of its seat, drawing out the tension without appearing to do so. Add in her little gasped sobs and trembling bottom lip, and even Hermione – who knew from the summer at Grimmauld Place that Tonks was both a skilled performer and quite a tough witch – felt sympathetic and concerned. It had been _quite_ the impressive show. Especially when Bill, limping – honestly! limping! - down to provide his own testimony, had given "poor Dora" a consoling pat on the shoulder as her half-sobbed rendition of events came to a close.

Honestly, Hermione had half a mind to start a Drama Club. There was clearly quite a lot of talent going to waste at Hogwarts.

Once McGonagall and all the students had testified, it was time for the rest of the adults to take the stand. Hermione noted that many of the questions posed now assumed Pettigrew's guilt as a matter of fact. While this ordinarily would have been viewed by her as a shocking abuse of the justice system, she found that, as it was Pettigrew's trial, she didn't much care. (She made a note to herself not to let that happen again. She knew Pettigrew was guilty, so she didn't feel too bad about not sticking up to ensure the rules were followed to the _letter_- but then, a lot of people had "known" Sirius was guilty, too.)

Remus Lupin's testimony was particularly damning. It answered the question of "why didn't Dumbledore suspect that Pettigrew wasn't dead" and gave a detailed account of Wormtail's character prior to all the mass-murdering and framing business. By the time he concluded his statement, it was clear that people were wondering if it was possible that Black had been falsely accused, though Fudge's evidence of the crime scene had not considered the possibility that Pettigrew had cast the curse and killed all those Muggles. (Although there were more than a few comments questioning "how can we really be _certain_ of this particular witnesses trustworthiness, especially given the nature of his condition," which made Tonks scowl and McGonagall tighten her lips.)

Luckily for Hermione's stress levels, an Auror had come in with signed statements from Pettigrew - then under Veritaserum - that he had both performed the curse that had killed the Muggles and been spying for Voldemort for over a year before betraying the Potters. Apparently he had waived the right to be present at his trial. (Hermione hadn't known that was possible, though after observing the faces of the audience as they heard the news, she realized it might have been necessary for the little rat's continued survival.)

Hermione had not quite realized just how… _revered_ Harry's parents were.

Revered was definitely the term. It was almost frightening how many faces had turned to nameless fury at the news. It was definitely frightening how many had broken the mandated audience silence to scream furious epithets at the betrayer's defence representative.

Hermione supposed the Pettigrew case was pretty much in the bag, and wondered if they'd even bother to do a separate trial for the next defendant.

Many of the more politically-involved members of the Wizengamot were shifting in their chairs by the time the last witness came to the (metaphorical) stand. Some had eager looks of anticipation on their faces as they foresaw openings in certain high-placed governmental positions, others the fixed and manic expressions of those who are preparing to deny knowledge of everything.

Hermione didn't notice, because the last witness was Sirius Black.

* * *

He'd been roughly handled out of the fireplace and dragged, coughing and choking, through the crowded Ministry halls. His hands were magically bound, and his skin was paper-white around his wrists. He was aware of muttered comments and horrified gasps as he was shoved into the chain-covered chair, his head knocking loudly against the back. He knew that, after four years of Azkaban, he looked awful.

Despite Sirius' physical appearance, his mind felt sharp and clear for the first time in years. It was a different kind of clear than the emptiness left in the wake of his burning, obsessive rage against Pettigrew. He felt… as if he could do something. As if he had the strength to conjure a Patronus charm, or the intelligence to browbeat his guards into allowing him to see Remus or Dumbledore, or the emotional fortitude to actually explain what had happened, even if they didn't believe him at first.

Someone had caught Pettigrew, finally. They'd found the little bastard. Part of him chafed at the realization that he wouldn't be able to exact revenge, but another, larger part was whispering that the Order might believe him. That Moony might believe him.

(The Dementors must be far away, then.

Usually at this point of his train of thought, they'd have forced him to remember once more the reasons why that would never happen, imagine his old friend's devastated face, the exact expression it had been after he'd discovered that Snape had been _led_ to the Shrieking Shack…)

Damn it. Sirius shook his head.

He didn't have the right to feel betrayed by Remus, not after he'd abused his friend's trust so badly before. Not after, years later, he'd cast aside their friendship on Pettigrew's word alone, with far less "proof" than the Ministry had against him now.

He didn't have the right… but it still hurt. (An entirely different kind of pain than the chains currently biting his skin. Or the agony that shot through him with every cough. Or the lump currently forming on his head.)

"Auror Quinn, I must remind you that your rights only extend to use of _necessary_ force," Amelia Bones said tightly from one of the benches ahead of him. Sirius jerked out of his musings, dimly realizing that she was talking to Old Sadist. Since when had he been entitled to prisoner's' rights?

She turned on him with a stern gaze, and he felt a bit less unsettled. He expected hostility -- it was kindness that unnerved him.

"Your medical records show that, aside from a minor allergy to Gillyweed, you have no medical problems that might interfere with effectiveness of Veritaserum. Do you consent to its use upon your person, Mr. Black?" Her voice was firm, but gave no hint to her opinion of him.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, then licked his lips nervously, "Bbut I want to make a request of the court."

Bones' reply was bland. "Our response depends on the nature of the request."

Forcing the words out was harder than he'd expected them to be. They felt strange and harsh on his throat, and for a brief instant, he felt as if an entirely different person was moving his mouth. "I want you to ask me questions. Ask me-ask me to tell the truth. Because…I wasn't the Secret Keeper." He swallowed, his eyes shut tight. "Or a Death Eater. And I don't expect you to believe me but…"

His voice trailed off. He was sure he should be explaining himself, trying to convince the court before he was taken off and dragged away for the nerve of trying to pretend he wasn't the killer, but he couldn't seem to make his throat work.

It was a few moments before he noticed the absence of the hissing and shocked exclamations he'd expected.

Bones wearily replied, "Request accepted," and the rest of the Wizengamot all had expressions with varying degrees of pity and guilt.

They couldn't possibly believe him, could they?

As it turned out, they could.

Sirius Black's testimony lasted almost two hours as he was questioned and cross-questioned.

Tests were run to insure that he had not been Memory-Charmed, Imperio'd to lie, or secretly fed an antidote for Veritaserum. They all came back clean.

Pensieve accounts of the Fidelius Charm Lily Evans had performed, as well as Pettigrew's actions on November 1st, were shown to the court.

And the audience saw everything.

It was a peculiar law that had been in place some centuries, Hermione knew. As the audience was comprised of only those in some way related to the case, had been rendered invisible to those testifying, and were bound into silence by a series of stringent charms laid upon the courtroom, they made an excellent check of ministry power.

The Wizengamot had therefore been made unable to legally bar them from the courtroom. Not outright, at least.

This because of a law except only changeable by "a unanimous vote, conducted by every wWizarding male over thirty, in possession of either at least twelve acres of property or a healthy goat not past breeding age.")

Hermione had, at the time, approved of such a measure (barring what had constituted a "unanimous vote."). But watching a man's secret pains on show for the world to see… no. That wasn't right.

More than a few members of the audience, unseen by Sirius and unnoticed by the Wizengamot, had slipped away during the heart-wrenching testimony. Arthur Weasley, not wishing his children to be exposed to more horror than absolutely necessary, was one of them. Fudge and several other Ministry officials had followed, no doubt in haste to do something to preserve their jobs.

McGonagall and Remus made no move to leave, though.

Nor did Tonks.

And Hermione owed it to Sirius to stay, if only to try and understand the man she had so often found fault with the previous year (or, rather, some ten years into the future.).

* * *

The Wizengamot announced the need for a brief thirty-minute recess in order to discuss the verdict privately, which did little to help Remus' nerves. Sirius' haggard looks and numb, hoarse-voiced account of what had transpired had already caused him quite a bit of emotional turmoil. Remus couldn't help but replaying the limp way Padfoot had fallen in the chair after Madam Bones had ordered the Aurors to give him a Dreamless Sleep potion. She'd disguised the mercy that it was by citing the necessity of restraining a prisoner who had yet to be declared innocent, but Remus could see the guilt in her expression.

(Or he thought he could, at any rate. Perhaps he was projecting.)

The drawn and shattered man who'd stumbled into the courtroom bore little resemblance to the Sirius of old; the laughing, black-haired romantic with a barking laugh and ready grin. The teenager with an unconscious confidence in his stride, who showered charm on women with an ease Remus had always half-admired, half-envied… there was no trace of that boy in his friend's ragged features, now.

And, as short ago as yesterday, he would have thought this justice.

Remus didn't try to disregard the tight, painful lump in his throat as his friend was carried away to (he presumed) one of the holding cells, where he was surely not allowed to follow. At the moment, he felt that he deserved every bit of unpleasant misery his body could inflict upon him. (Which, as it was less than a day after the full moon, was quite a great deal.)

However, the pain was a welcome distraction from the unreasonable fear (Merlin, he hoped it was unreasonable) that this might be the last time he ever saw Sirius again. What if they declared him guilty? It couldn't –wouldn't happen, he insisted to himself. But as much as his head insisted it couldn't possibly happen, the fear remained. So his hands shook, and his stomach churned, but he ignored his nerves and lingering transformation pain and leaden-limbed exhaustion as his eyes stared dumbly at the silent discussions of the Wizengamot, waiting for the verdict.

The thirty-minutes were up, and Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Sirius Black, however, was _not_ cleared of any of the charges raised against him, due to the rather unsettling fact that he had never been formally charged with anything in the first place, but merely "detained" in accordance with the War Powers Act of 1972.

The issue of compensation, it was determined, would be hammered out later. (Probably after the Ministry had set enough lawyers on the case to cover their collective skins.)

Sirius had been fed a draught of Dreamless Sleep immediately after his testimony, and, once he was determined as innocent, quickly rushed to St. Mungo's for treatment of the rather obvious health issues he'd been having. Apparently the Ministry, although taking pains to make clear to everyone that they could not be held "officially responsible" for the situation, was not keen to have a dead body on its hands.

Remus, accompanied by Mad-Eye Moody, had rushedhurried to follow close behind his unconscious friend, accompanied by Mad-Eye Moody. (It was only due to the old Auror's insistence that the werewolf even bothered to pick up his wand at the front desk.)

Hermione Granger, Nymphadora Tonks, and Minerva McGonagall were largely ignored as the Wizengamot members hastened to exit the courtroom.

"Now, remember," the professor said, "not to speak of anything you've learned at the trial here. The magical restrictions won't allow you to, of course, but I've heard that trying to fight the compulsion is extremely unpleasant."

"Can we still speak about things that we knew before the trial?" Hermione asked, biting her lip to fight a yawn. She'd have to tell Dumbledore about the events in her future sometime, and it would be more than a little problematic if she was rendered unable to do so.

"Yes. You're capable of telling others about what you personally witnessed, or things you would have known knew already, but you cannot publicize facts revealed by the testimony of other witnesses, unless you were told that information before entering the courtroom."

"That must make the official announcements of trials difficult," Hermione mused.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "The Wizengamot is under different, but no less stringent, restrictions."

"This is interesting and all, but can I visit Sirius?" Tonks asked the professor. "He's my cousin, and it's always been part of school policy to make curfew exceptions for _really serious_ personal situations-"

"Miss Tonks, it is-" " here the professor checked her watch- "almost four in the morning, and you just fell into Miss Granger while trying to stand up. I have a responsibility for your health, and I would be remiss if I didn't ensure you geot the rest you need. Mr. Black will not be waking up for at least a day while they treat his malnourishment." McGonagall's voice trembled on the last word, but Tonks knew better than to argue the point.

"I don't see why the _witnesses_ weren't given that strengthening tonic," Tonks grumbled as she stumbled after McGonagall, her eyes drooping. Then she blinked. "But I can visit Sirius in a week or two, right? When he's… a bit better?"

"We'll have to see," McGonagall replied distantly as she led her charges back to the fireplace, wondering what sort of rumours would be traversing the school. (As Arthur Weasley had already escorted his boys back to Hogwarts, probably quite frightening ones. No doubt the whole of Gryffindor Tower was awake and swapping stories.)

"Aren't the O.W.L.s in less than two weeks?" Hermione yawned.

* * *

AN: Thank you for all your patience. I'll likely post next when I have finished at least a rough draft of the entirety of the story, although I have a pretty strong outline already. I also want to thank freedachickens for her beta help on this chapter.


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